


Your Social Guides (Give Me Swollen Eyes)

by paperdragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Graduate Phd Student!Rhaegar, Multi, Other, Pre-Law Major!Lyanna, Tale as Old as Time, The fic you never wanted but seriously needed, because I have no self control, burn as slow as fuck, but those of you here for R + L can chill cause the fire does keep you warm, in the case of jaime and lyanna literally just a kindling fire for like a decade and a half, you get the gist they're at fucking uni
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 85,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdragon/pseuds/paperdragon
Summary: ‘Who? Me? Oh, no, God no, I possibly couldn’t play this harp,’ moody-and-serious Rhaegar had said, flipping his hair to the side, fingers already curling around the harp. ‘You’re all putting me on the spot, I haven’t even practiced, I wouldn’t even know what to do. Who even brought this harp?’‘He brought that harp, for fuck’s sake,’ Lyanna had heard Daenarys mumble, mouth stuffed with a tea cake.OrLyanna Stark goes through college with a best friend who is in love with his sister, a boyfriend who she would sell to Satan for a single corn chip, and navigates loving a married man who plays a damn harp.(I literally suck at summaries, so give it a shot.)





	1. not good enough on your best days

**Author's Note:**

> So, essentially, if you're triggered by modern!AU's or college descriptions, be warned?

The thing is, Lyanna honestly cannot remember why exactly she liked Rhaegar in the first place. That’s not to say she doesn’t know why she fell in love with him, or why she married him, or even why she continues to love him – she just can’t remember why exactly she thought getting enamored with a married man was good idea.

Lyanna does remember, however, when she’d first saw him. She was only twenty then, and barely a sophomore at Illyria University, and being the daughter of a politically important family (albeit in the North) did come with certain benefits she wasn’t too fond off: one being invited to exclusive tea parties attended by other rich brats from influential families (that she staunchly excluded herself from) and the staff who was also, _coincidentally,_ from influential families.

Ever since Brandon had graduated last year, Lyanna had been extremely lonely, pathetic to the point where she had once sincerely debated with herself, in the girls’ restroom, about joining a sorority. But at this tea party (and what fucking university had _tea_ parties?), Lyanna had happily located Tyrion, her TA for Law theory, and he’d happily passed her a flask that she’d been all too ecstatic to siphon into her tea.

And then Tyrion had made an _ugh_ sound so classic, Lyanna knew his sister was there. Another sophomore, she had declared her intentions to both graduate magna cum laude in her economics major and find a rich, politically influential husband before the next years were up. Since Cersei wouldn’t have deigned to marry someone below her, all the gossip raged that the female Lannister had taken to stalking the only eligible (well…) bachelor ( _well_ …) in the university: Rhaegar Targaryen.  Never mind the fact that he was married, or the fact that his wife had only delivered a daughter last year, or that he was significantly older; Cersei had signed up for every course that ensured her path ran into his. Not that her plan had worked out too well; Rhaegar was a PhD candidate at graduate school, and was TA only for sophomores and above - and Cersei had ended up having to ask Lyanna about Psychology 101, looking at the younger, more bitchier Viserys Targaryen teach.

“Oh, my, how _lovely_ to see you again,” Lyanna heard Cersei whimper at someone. The change from her usual demeanor made her pour a little more alcohol into her tea.

Tyrion grabbed the flask with no ceremony. “Seeing as the bane of my existence has just arrived, I’ll be needing that more than you.”

As she sipped her tea, Lyanna noticed the girls in the room turn towards someone; someone standing next to Cersei as she cooed at him, someone with long, silver flowing locks that looked salon treated. Someone with clear skin that shone even brighter in the sunlight. Someone standing near a _harp._

What the fuck?

Lyanna was intrigued. The tea tasted like bourbon (she could always count on Tyrion for good taste), the party was as boring as always, Jaime wasn’t here to make fun of people with, Maege was back home for some emergency, and Lyanna was honest to god just bored.

Rhaegar was pretty, she’d have to admit; pretty enough that she was less enamored and slightly more envious of his straight hair. He could have given his brother tips, seeing as how Viserys’s hair always looked greasy and unkempt.

 _I should ask him for tips,_ she thought, laughing. _Although even his best hair advice wouldn’t tame this wolf’s mane._

Cersei was asking him to play the harp.

‘Oh, but I have been regaled of your talent on the harp, Rhaegar,’ Cersei had said. Lyanna momentarily had a hard time reconciling this Cersei with the one who had put red ants and honey in some girls’ school bag for claiming she was better at the piano. ‘You must play for us.’

Rhaegar – who Lyanna had always been told was shy, and serious, and mysterious, and broody – had tried to look sheepish. It was half hearted, and Lyanna felt absolutely confused. He’d looked at the people around him, and looked shocked. He was a terrible actor.

‘Who? Me? Oh, no, God no, I possibly couldn’t,’ moody-and-serious Rhaegar had said, flipping his hair to the side, fingers already curling around the harp. ‘You’re all putting me on the spot, I haven’t even practiced, I wouldn’t even know what to do. Who even brought this harp?’

‘He brought that harp, for fuck’s sake,’ Lyanna had heard Daenarys mumble, mouth stuffed with a tea cake.

And then he’d started playing, all smiles for his fellow staff members, his fingers running across the strings, and Lyanna couldn’t have stopped laughing to save her life. Her laughter had burst out, loud and unforgiving, and Rhaegar’s hands had paused on his _harp_ , and he’d looked at her with such confusion, Lyanna had only laughed louder, and harder, until Robert Baratheon of all people, had given her a hug to hide her face.

‘She’s crying, this one,’ he’d said, hiding her. ‘Don’t blame her, I’m just too funny.’

She’d met Rhaegar’s eyes once more, and he’d looked strangely like the serious man she’d heard so much about. But he was still holding that damn harp, and the only effect it had was to make her laugh again. Rhaegar Targaryen was _that guy_ at a party.

 Robert, a year above her, had let her laugh into his shoulder and even joined in, bless his soul. He’d slowly retracted her from the entire tea party, and brought her a fancy paper-doily napkin to fake wipe her tears, and guided her out of the decorated garden and into the great hall.

And that had been that for a while. 

.

Robert had asked her out that same evening. After the whole laughter-gate incident that she couldn’t seem to explain to him, or stop laughing about, he’d merely grinned and asked her out. She’d met him before, hanging about with Ned when she was in high school, and they’d both grown since then.

‘Do you like dancing?’ Robert had asked her.

“No. I like horse riding,” She’d replied. ‘I also fence.’

‘Stop, you’ll make me blush,’ he’d said, and Lyanna had laughed. That wasn’t exactly the way it was supposed to go. ‘I’d like to go horse riding with you.’

Lyanna had looked up, and seen the first man who hadn’t skipped a beat in this conversation. ‘I’m free Monday.’

‘I was thinking tomorrow morning,’ he’d said.

She had hmmed, her hand still on his forearm. She had still felt weak from all the laughing. ‘Monday,’ she’d said.

They’d bickered all the way out, and she hadn’t said a word to dissuade him from walking her to the dorms. She had a good idea of what Robert was like; he was heir to the biggest steel conglomerate in the country, wild and brash and spontaneous in a way she understood completely, and he was also an absolute slut. She knew about the stories and the broken hearts, and everything, and she knew the relationship would end on a terrible note; but as he stood there in the early night and the glimmering lamplight, Lyanna could only see the curve of his jawbone, and could only remember Rhaegar’s fake denials on playing the harp he’d carried in with him, and she had agreed to see him again.

And what was the worst that could happen? It’s not like she would irrevocably fall in love with him, and be desperate enough to have his kid in attempt to get him to marry her (and rumors did suggest that wouldn’t work either). No, one of them was most likely to cheat, and the other to dump them unceremoniously.

It would be a mistake, letting a good flirtation and even better fuck (Lyanna had gauged the strength of those arms) turn into a mediocre relationship that would ultimately implode. But then Lyanna had thought about it, and announced to her empty dorm room, ‘Fuck it. I haven’t made any mistakes in college yet. Might as well get them over and done with.’

And that, she supposed, was when she had jinxed it.

.

See, the whole Rhaegar-Lyanna thing didn’t actually start as that. It started as her going to her medieval arts class (that she’d taken up again this year regardless of the fact that it was completely unconnected to her future Law prospects) and throwing her bag next to Jaime, the way she’d done since they first met in their freshman counterpart class. The class had been brilliant and interesting, even though Professor did need immediate and psychological help (Khal Drogo wanted them to choreograph an entire medieval swordfight with _actual_ swords that could do serious damage or even kill them), he’d been adamant that only three students would be selected to perform at the end of the year. Lyanna had side-eyed Jaime to catch him side-eyeing her: they were equally adamant that by the end of the year, they would be two of those three students. Then the class had ended, and Lyanna had stuffed her notes haphazardly into her bag, already having ideas on choreography practice. Everyone had been shoving books and elbows and laughing and complaining, before a very familiar voice had called across the hall.

‘I expect the assignment to be submitted to me by the end of the week,’ she heard him say, and instantly thought, _oh no._

And there he was, Rhaegar Targaryen, in all his silky haired glory, looking for the entire world the stoic and serious individual people thought him to be.

Still, it was slightly embarrassing to have your TA be the guy you laughed at really loudly, so Lyanna slinks away, trying her best to just slide away, when Jaime calls out.

‘Oi, Stark!’ He yells, all golden in the yellow lighting, parkouring off a row of chairs. ‘Wait up, I’ve got ideas!’

Half the class looks at him; the others look at her. Rhaegar looks at her, frowns, and then promptly looks away.

Well, fine then.

.

‘I think he’s embarrassed,’ Lyanna says, more to herself than to anyone. Jaime’s invited himself into her dorm, the same way he sort of invited himself into her life. They’re lounging on the sofa in her common room that she’s lucky enough to share with nobody, and remembering when they actually smoked weed. Since they’re both into sports, they’ve quit the habit.

‘About what?’ Jaime asks. He’s still sulking after Cersei called him a pussy for not coming to the party. He had good reasons, reasons that Lyanna agreed with. As much as they’ve quit the habit, the habit hasn’t really quit them, and temptation would be enough to drive them both to smoke.

‘I mean, I did laugh at him in front of his peers. Who are also his family,’ Lyanna says. ‘I know everyone else kind of took Robert at his word, but I’m like seventy eight percent certain Rhaegar knows what’s up. I think he’s offended that I would judge him for playing the harp.’

‘No offense, Lyanna, but I don’t think he’d care about a sophomore judging him,’ Jaime said. ‘On the other hand, it is a fucking harp, so maybe he’s just offended by himself and his awful taste.’

She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I need to get better friends.’

‘You do have better friends. They all just smoke weed,’ he replied, eyeing her packet of chips. ‘And speaking of friends, saw you riding Robert Baratheon the other day.’

‘With. You saw me riding _with_ Robert the other day, Jaime,’ Lyanna says. ‘Auxiliary words are an important part of grammar, you know.’

‘What’s that saying my dad’s fraternity spread all over the place? Fuck grammar?’ He laughs.

Lyanna grabs the chips. ‘I think it was _Fuck Honor._ ’

‘That does sound more apt, actually,’ he says, mournfully looking at her chips. ‘So, you and Robert.’

‘Might as well, I mean,’ Lyanna says. ‘Who else am I supposed to date?’

‘This guy right here,’ Jaime says, stealing the baggie.

‘Been there, done that,’ Lyanna answers. ‘No repeating freshie mistakes.’

‘Don’t call our epic love affair a mistake, my lady,’ he counters, smirking. Moments like these, he looks so pretty she just wants to kiss him.

Lyanna rolls her eyes. ‘Oh please, our _epic love affair_ lasted for two weeks, and do you really want to recall why?’

That’s one of the reason’s Lyanna is sure she could tell Jaime anything and not be judged for it. Because once upon a lonesome, when he had been her boyfriend, he’d been miserable and drunk and admitted that he loved another girl, and that he knew this was unfair to her. They’d broken up, and tried to be friends, until one day she’d seen him sitting after fencing practice, stroking a Polaroid of her sister which shaking hands and an intense sadness in his eyes, and she’d understood everything. It’s hard to be offended when they guy’s kind of in love with his own _sister_ though, and that’s when Lyanna had essentially imprinted on Jaime and decided that if she couldn’t date him, she’d still keep him.

They’ve been through a lot together in the past year or so, the worst being Cersei cutting all ties with him when he decided he wanted to go pro instead of working for his dad after college. Lyanna had found him sitting outside her dorm room, half drunk and closer to tears than she’d ever seen him. She’d taken him in, let him yell at her and accuse her, slapped some sense into him, and put him to bed. She’d threatened to stop being his friend, and she’d threatened to never speak to him again. He’d woken up the most repentant she’d ever see him, apologized for his behavior, and had ever since that day been desperately trying to get over his _thing,_ as they now called it.

‘I think I need a therapist,’ Jaime says, mood definitely on a down curve.

Lyanna feels an annoying stab of guilt. ‘Who doesn’t at this point? But honestly, how’s it going with her?’

‘In public, we’re fine. Privately, she won’t speak to me,’ he says. ‘I know, in a way it’s good. I was always trying to attain something with her that she wouldn’t be able to give me. She’s just, one of those people. Who everyone can love, but they just can’t love back. Even if they try to.’

‘God, we’re pathetic,’ Lyanna says, shoving chips in her mouth. She’s suddenly angry at herself for settling for Robert, before she passionately reminds herself that it is a temporary relationship.

Jaime looks at her hand in the bag of chips he’s holding and grins. ‘Speak for yourself, Stark’ he says, and tackles her.

Lyanna refuses to give in, fisting her hand into the bag and pulling. As they end up practically wrestling on her shitty couch, Lyanna wonders why things can’t be this easy.

.

Lyanna feels like the universe really has it out for her. As Dean Rhaella Targaryen gleefully announces the annual medieval tourney competition, Lyanna wants to throw up. As a student for the medieval arts class, she’s de facto part of the planning committee and mandatory attendee. Jaime looks equally disgruntled, and his guaranteed company is the only thing that makes any of it better.

With the senior class organizing most of it, Lyanna’s a bit like a small cog in a large machine; her and Jaime intensely lobby for one thing and one thing only – a fencing competition. With that motive achieved, they have nothing else to interest them, and turn back.

As they reach nearer and nearer to the main library, she sees a grinning Robert approaching. Because Lyanna is a huge fucking idiot, she actually believes that he might just have good news.

‘My lady,’ he says, and Lyanna cringes. The medieval fever has begun. ‘I just thought I should inform you that I’ll be fighting in the joust in your favor.’

 _Calm down, it’s only been three months_ , Lyanna thinks, and then blanches. Because it actually has been three months since she’s been dating Robert. What in the ever loving fuck happened to temporary thing? She can suddenly recall with crystal clarity her dorm room, with the small things that have simply appeared over time, evidence of Robert’s presence in her life. He keeps a pair of his jeans and boxers there, ever since he came in his pants that one time the dry humped, and he had to make the trip back to his dorm. Lyanna’s left a t-shirt or two at his dorm, borrowed his only button down and kept it because it was huge and loose and comfy to sleep in.

Jaime, noticing her existential crises, smirks around the hotdog he’s eating. ‘That sounds romantic, Robert.’

‘I don’t like you,’ Robert says to him, bluntly. He kisses Lyanna’s hand, that’s curled into a fist. ‘See you soon, my lady.’

‘Well, that wasn’t subtle,’ Jaime laughs, watching Robert stalk away. He has a slight smudge of ketchup on his lower lip, and Lyanna imagines kissing him, licking it away with her tongue in a desperate show to the world that no, she has not settled into a relationship with Robert Baratheon of all people. The moment passes, thankfully.

‘He’s not a man of subtlety,’ Lyanna says, but her mood’s been dampened. She’s not sure why. Robert, for all his faults, has actually remained partially sober throughout parties they attend together, has treated her well if a bit indifferently on occasion, and although he still stares at girls all the time, he hasn’t slept with them.

As she walks back with Jaime, she finds herself listing all the reasons Robert is good for her. He makes her laugh, and he doesn’t stop her from doing what she wants. He appreciates her passion for horse riding, and encourages her fencing. He doesn’t quite understand why she loves studying law so much, but doesn’t try to dissuade her from it. She’s even stopped wearing her sexy underwear to bed with him, instead choosing a ripped t-shirt and a pair of granny shorts, and the first time he’d looked at her in those he’d said, ‘you look fucking sexy, babe.’

And sure, he’s got his drawbacks, but he is trying. He does like her, anyone can tell that. He could probably love her at this rate, and soon. And although Lyanna is pretty sure she’ll never love him back the way he does, she doesn’t quite mind the whole relationship thing for now.

‘Are you rationalizing your inappropriate relationship right now?’ Jaime asks.

Sometimes Lyanna really hates how well he knows her. ‘No.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Jaime says, smirking.

‘Less inappropriate than yours,’ Lyanna says, annoyed.

Jaime chokes on his hotdog. ‘Harsh, Lya. That was a low blow. No need to be so damn bitter.’

‘I’m not bitter,’ Lyanna says, bitterly, with a bitter expression. ‘Now gimme your hotdog.’

As Jaime’s mouth upturned in his classical smirk, he said, ‘Ooh, but my lady, I never knew you were inclined towards such proclivities.’

Lyanna tackled him to the ground as he shoved the remaining bite into his mouth. They collapsed on the ground, Lyanna hitting him and hissing, ‘Shut the fuck up, Lannister.’

‘You are rather fiery, Lady Lyanna,’ Jaime cooed loudly, undeterred.  People were starting to stop and stare at the two rolling in the grass. ‘As unladylike your behavior has been so far, I find myself strangely captivated by your rather unique graces and – OW, Lya, Jesus.’

‘Why are you _like this_ ,’ Lyanna hissed, trying to strangle him. She could feel the tell-tale sign of her laughter bubbling in her stomach, but it had been a while since she’d had a brawl. She suddenly missed Brandon deeply.

People cheered for ‘Lady Lyanna’ as she pushed him to the grass and straddled him. They were barely out of breath, a clear benefit of their athleticism, but there was grass in his their hair and a giant ant in extremely close proximity to her hand where she held his down, and Lyanna made to move.

‘What’s happening here?’ Rhaegar’s voice called out. ‘Don’t you people have lectures?’

Lyanna jumped off Jaime like he was scalding her. She wondered why the universe kept making her path meet with Rhaegar Targaryen over and over again, and especially when she wasn’t on her best behavior.

For all that she had judged him and laughed, Rhaegar’s stoicism remained unmoved by the sight of her, slapping the grass off her thighs, or Jaime as he stood up and shook his hair out. That slight stabbing feeling occurred near her right kidney, and she decided to classify it as a period warning, and not a strange sense of guilt. She could imagine him laughing at her, and how she’d feel, and she felt somewhat annoyed at him and her. Why in the world was she even thinking of that? Maybe she should apologize, she thought, watching him turn and leave. But why should she, he’s the one who was carrying a fucking _harp_ with him in the hopes that someone would ask him to play.

‘I do not know what any girl sees in that man,’ Jaime said, plucking a stray twig from her hair.

Lyanna was in no doubts that her hair had exploded. It was curling in patches from where it had escaped her topknot. ‘Really? You have to admit, he’s not hard to look at.’

‘But he’s so dull. He barely ever smiles, or talks,’ Jaime said, rubbing the shoulder she’d punched him on. ‘I’d wonder why if I cared.’

 _Oh god, I laughed at him when he was all cheery,_ Lyanna thought. Aloud she only said, ‘Neither do I. Now let’s go, I’ve got Pysch.’

.

Things remained calm after that; Lyanna bummed about with Jaime between classes, visited Robert at his football games once a week, occasionally getting dinner or staying over at his dorm. She and Jaime had gotten their swords and immediately started choreographing their fight. Still, these swords were the old, actual kind, and although neither of them were weak in terms of arm strength, a few swipes had them sweating.

‘So, this is going to be harder than expected,’ Jaime said, trying to act like his arm didn’t hurt. From his consistent flinching, it wasn’t working.

Simultaneously, they had to practice for the meelee, with their much lighter swords. Two weeks into it, Lyanna found herself much faster with her meelee sword; compared to the one she was practicing with, it was lighter than air.

‘Have you gotten your dresses made?’ Jaime asked her, parrying her blow.

Lyanna threw more of her weight on the sword, and had the pleasure of his hand jerking as he fought it. ‘No, Ashara and Catelyn are dragging me out tonight.’

As he twisted and pushed her back, Lyanna corrected her footwork again. They were practicing on the stage of their medieval arts class, the stage they were adamant they would be sharing at the end of the year.

‘Could be worse, Lya,’ Jaime said, carefully approaching. He had his eyes on the angle of her hands. ‘I’m stuck with one of the greyjoy’s. Anyways, how’s old Robert doing.’

He certainly was taking his time, but they were here early. ‘Oh, don’t even start.’

So maybe things hadn’t been so great with Robert lately. He’d been drunk most of the time, bitter about some imagined slight or the other. He’d gotten upset about her having lunch with Oberyn, although she and he were only friends. When she’d asked about him grinding on Cersei, he’d yelled at her until he’d passed out. Lyanna had yelled at him, collapsed on the bed, until she’d been too tired to.

‘As much as I would like to say I told you so,’ Jaime says, grinning. ‘Honestly, Lya, what did you expect?’

Not this. ‘Oh, fuck it, Jaime,’ she said. ‘We’re here to practice, aren’t we? Let’s practice, then.’

‘Fine, fine,’ he replied. ‘Don’t get tetchy with me because your boyfriend’s a piece of shit and you have no qualms about settling.’

She hated his honesty sometimes, and she hated the cruel streak his sister had only encouraged. She let the rage simmer, at him for not understanding, and at herself for not understanding either, and struck his with the hardest of her strength.

He hadn’t been expecting it, and almost fell to the ground with surprise of it. ‘Fucking hell, Lyana, calm down.’

‘Oh get off it, Jaime,’ she said, seething more than she had a right to. ‘He’s a man; he’s bound to be a pig. Let him have his drinking and his cheating eyes. I could care less about any of it. I could care less about the fighting and the yelling and the arguments.’

‘Why the fuck are you even with him?’ Jaime challenged.

Why was she? This is had started off so simple, so clear. She’d dated him because he was fun, and wouldn’t bind her to things, and they’d been good together, once. She didn’t know why, only that Ned had called her and been so _happy_ that she was with his good friend Robert; only that her father had smiled at the concept of a steady relationship when she’d skyped him, approving the Baratheon family. Only that sometimes, Lyanna couldn’t see the difference between settling for someone she liked well enough because he didn’t care about stopping her from doing the things she liked.

‘Because he doesn’t restrict me from things, even if he does bitch about them. Because my family would approve of him,’ Lyanna finds herself spitting. ‘Because he doesn’t care if I’m always looking pretty, or behaving myself.’

‘What the fuck happened to you in six months, Lya?’ Jaime asks her. He’s looking at her like he can’t understand her.

‘Maybe I decided to grow up, Jaime,’ she says. ‘Maybe I realized that unlike some of us here, I actually respect my family values, and that I shouldn’t be so fucking selfish. How’s that for an explanation. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I made do with the best option. How would you know, hmm? As much as my family likes to claim we’ve moved past the old let’s-marry-off-our-daughters-to-the-highest-bidder façade, I know what awaits me. If I can’t have a choice about being useful to my family by marriage, by God I swear I will have a choice between who I will marry.’

Years later, Jaime will ask her what she was thinking then, and Lyanna will remember thinking off Rickard Stark’s solemn words, ‘your mother would have wished to see you happy and with someone, Lya.’ She will remember thinking of Benjen being excited over meeting his older brother’s friend Rob, who had thrown him up and caught him as a child. She will remember Robert being too drunk to stop her from going out and doing what she wants.

‘But you don’t get that, do you, Jaime?’ Lyanna presses. She feels cruel. She feels like bawling. ‘No, you walked away from your family, but your fortune isn’t too far away. Even if it wasn’t, it’s not like you care for family values, is it? _Fuck honor_ , isn’t that what Tywin taught you?’

Jaime is trembling. He gives a deep sigh, tremulous. She wonders if she’s gone too far with the truth, as acerbic as it was. She doesn’t care if she has.

‘Whatever he taught me, one thing stuck by,’ he says, finally, looking like the fight has drained out of him. ‘Lie to the entire world, Lyanna. Don’t lie to yourself.’

As he turns to leave, Lyanna suddenly feels sick. What the fuck is she doing?

‘Where are you going?’ she yells, watching him trudge up the stairs of the auditorium.

‘I’m not fighting you like this, Lyanna,’ he calls back. ‘Get a fucking grip.’

As the door slams closed, Lyanna feels an intensely un-Lyanna-like urge to break down into tears. She loosens her grip on the sword, and wonders what the fuck adulthood even is.

‘Well, that was something,’ Rhaegar’s voice rings out so loud and sudden, Lyanna drops her sword.

She curses the universe, once again. ‘Trust me; I fight with swords better than I do with words.’

‘I’m not convinced,’ he says, and with how serious he was, Lyanna wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.

She takes it as a joke, she’d thrown enough lighter fluid on bridges today. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see then, I suppose.’

They stand there in awkward silence then; the early morning time and the fight she’s had with Jaime has left everything feeling surreal. Rhaegar, with his violet eyes and his hair isn’t exactly helping with setting in reality.

‘I suppose I will,’ he says, eventually, and again there is silence. The next time he speaks, so does Lyanna.

‘Your left side is open, very rarely – ‘

‘You’re never here this early - ’

They both pause, and Lyanna offers up an errant smile. ‘I know, I keep trying to correct it. My brother taught me to be on the offensive mostly, I suppose my defense strategy is more lacking.’

Rhaegar smiles at her, and for a minute, Lyanna forgets everything. ‘I’m usually early, but in Drogo’s office, marking assignments.’

She feels stabbed, again, for some strange reason. Lyanna hasn’t seen him smile since that one time at that tea party that seemed years ago, although it has only been six months. She has only seen him serious, and stoic, and cold, and she hasn’t expected to enjoy his smiling face the way she is. He looks beautiful - gorgeous, actually – and Lyanna blinks at him.

‘You have recognized the weakness, which is good,’ Rhaegar was saying. Lyanna feels disgusted by how attractive he iss, and by herself for being attracted. ‘Practice makes perfect, although you’ve obviously taken that one to heart.’

To her absolute chagrin, Lyanna feels herself fighting the urge to blush. What the actual fuck?

‘Yes, well, good enough isn’t good enough if it can be better,’ she repeats Brandon’s words, with a growing sense of confusion. It had obviously been too long since she’d had a good fuck, Robert had been too drunk and she’d been too pissed. ‘Sorry if that little tableau bothered you. Jaime and I can be… dramatic sometimes.’

His smile, which had been dimming, deepens. Again, that stabbing sensation. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve endured many dramas in my own family.’

‘Well, I’ll let you get back to the grading,’ Lyanna says. This was too weird. ‘Be kind to us poor students who have no knowledge of medieval cults.’

He doesn’t reply, only stands there and inclines his head as Lyanna practically runs up the stairs.

For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t even like Rhaegar. She doesn’t even _know_ him, apart from the obvious married part, and the somewhat secret fact that he plays a _harp._

 _The harp_ that she’d laughed at him for. The incident that she’d kept thinking about apologizing for, and missed out on the perfect opportunity for. She turns, and he iss still looking at her.

‘Hey, I just,’ she calls out, and is lost on what to say. _I’m sorry for laughing at you? For laughing at the harp? I couldn’t help it?_ She hasn’t thought this through. ‘I’m sorry about interrupting your performance, that time.’

He raises his eyebrows. Damn, even they were perfectly sculpted. She wonders if he got them done. Fuck, he probably did. ‘What – oh. It’s alright.’

Lyanna feels like she should say more. He’s looking all moody again, and it isn’t comforting after she’d seen him smile. ‘You were pretty great from what I could hear; I’m sure you’re brilliant at it. Again, I’m sorry.’

She sees him open his mouth and close it, and wondered what the fuck was going on. She briefly wonders if she has indigestion. He nods, and Lyanna slams the door behind her.

.

When she comes back to the auditorium, she can’t find Jaime. He hasn’t shown up, and Lyanna listens to Drogo with less enthusiasm then she usually would.

After her classes for the day finish, she makes her way to Jaime’s dorm, banging on his door.

‘Fuck off!’ Domeric Bolton had yelled, muffled from inside.

‘Open the door, fuckwit,’ Lyanna had yelled right back.

As he opened the door, she spared an appreciative glance for his chest, whistling. ‘Damn, Domeric, keep doing what you’re doing.’

Domeric smiles at her. ‘Thanks, love. Don’t mind the messy common suite.’

‘I never do, darling,’ Lyanna says, jumping over a questionable pair of boxer shorts.

‘Jaime’s moping, not sure about what,’ Domeric tells her. ‘He won’t open the door.’

Lyanna gives a mmhmm. ‘He’s playing music though. Is it a Celine Dion level emergency.’

‘No, no,’ Domeric says, far away. He’s rubbing the towel through his wet hair, his muscles moving. Damn, Lyanna needs to get laid soon. ‘More John Mayer, from what I can tell. Ever since I called him out on it, he plays the music super low.’

‘Open up, Jaime,’ Lyanna croons against the door. ‘Come on, don’t be like that.’

She hears the slightest bit of muffled movement, and a quickly switched off music track that seemed for all intents and purposes to be _Taylor Swift,_ but she feels like mentioning that won’t be conducive to what she’s trying to achieve here.

‘Fuck off, Lya,’ he calls out. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘Come on, I’m a crazy bitch,’ Lyanna says. ‘Thought you were into that.’

‘Fuck off,’ she hears, more muffled. ‘This isn’t about you.’

Well, that’s interesting, and explains a lot. Jaime isn’t one to brood, especially about an argument with her. Her curiosity peaked, Lyanna meets Domeric’s eyes.  Time for the big guns.

‘Oh, Ser Jaime,’ Lyanna swoons, her voice high and lilted. ‘Good Ser, however shall this lady survive without imbibing herself on the fruits of your tender love?’

Domeric snorts in the background, and she hears Jaime mutter a quiet, disbelieving, ‘ _imbibe?_ ’

‘I have made this long and arduous journey for the sake of your company,’ Lyanna said, adding a tremulous edge to her tone. ‘They did not tell me you would turn me away so, with not even a glimpse of your breathtaking golden mane, and your exceptional bravery, and the face that so many women have simply died upon looking at. I would only find myself so lucky so as to greet death after I have glanced at your precious – fucking finally.’

Jaime has finally opened the door, but Lyanna can’t find it in herself to be too pleased. He looks infinitely saddened, so sad that she almost wants to break their no-weed covenant and douse him in hash.

‘Seriously, Lya?’ Jaime asks, giving her a pathetic grin. ‘A face so gorgeous women have died after looking at it? A bit too much, isn’t it?’

‘Flattery always has been the way to get to you,’ she says, throwing herself on his bed. ‘What the fuck happened to you, then?’

‘I saw Cersei,’ he says, and that’s enough to make Lyanna sit up. ‘That’s all.’

‘That’s all?’ Lyanna says. ‘That’s what’s got you so down?’

‘Father was here to see her,’ Jaime says, and he looks so melancholic. ‘Even Tyrion had joined them.’

Lyanna suddenly remembers him sitting with his family during freshman year, when Tywin had visited a few times. ‘Well, shit.’

‘Exactly so,’ he replies.  He sits down next to her. ‘Wasn’t exactly the best thing to see after I’d just fought with my best friend.’

‘Again, I’m a crazy bitch,’ Lyanna says, but it’s soft as she can make it. ‘Do you regret it?’

‘They seem like strangers,’ he muses. ‘Well, Tyrion’s fine, but Tyrion’s always been there, as much as he can be. But Cersei, God, whenever I see her now, talking to someone, I don’t even know who she is.’

Lyanna feels like she has no clue what to say. The only experience she has with accidental-not-on-purpose-incest is when she was four and adamant that she would marry Brandon. ‘Well, she’s…kind of a bitch, to be honest.’

That makes him laugh, just a little. ‘I know. I used to like that about her, you know?’

‘You were kind of a dick though,’ Lyanna says. ‘When you were constantly around her. It wasn’t exactly healthy. I mean, you treated Brienne like shit.’

‘I did, didn’t I? I should apologize to her for that,’ Jaime says. He is no doubt remembering the times he laughed at his sister’s cruel words to the absolute godsend that was Brienne Tarth. Brienne, who had forgiven him with no apologies, who came out for drinks with both of them, who had defeated Jaime in an impromptu fencing challenge last year and immediately offered him a hand to pull him back up.

‘See, that!’ Lyanna says. ‘You would never even _deign_ to think about apologizing if you were with her.’

‘I just, I miss her Lya,’ he says, and he sounds so heartbroken, it makes Lyanna almost jealous. If only someone would be that heartbroken over her.

‘I know you do, and that’s fine,’ Lyanna says. ‘If me and Brandon stopped talking, I wouldn’t know what a tree looks like. And sure, Brandon doesn’t mean to me what…Cersei means to you, but. I understand that. She was your twin. It’s hard to get that level of understanding with someone. But I mean this with no judgment about anything else, just on the kind of person she is – and that is a toxic person.’

Jaime looks like he’s going to say something, but she shushes him. ‘I know her not being in your life is heartbreaking. And as your best friend, I hate seeing you like this, because you being sad makes me sad. But I can’t for a minute not be glad that she isn’t in your life anymore, because you are still a better man on your worst day without her than on your best day with her.’

Jaime looks shocked. ‘Well,’ he says, coughing. There’s silence for a moment, and Lyanna feels weird. Today’s a weird day. They’re never so mushy and upfront with each other, but maybe they needed this. ‘…You being sad makes me sad _._ ’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Lyanna says, betrayed by her reddening cheeks. She gets up and moves to leave. This is just a really weird day. She’d never be such a pussy otherwise. Honestly, getting triggered by his mention of her relationship, feeling like Rhaegar is the prettiest bitch in town, having a heart-to-heart with her best friend. What’s next? Declaring her love to Robert? Hell no.

But Jaime’s smiling now, and that’s such a better look on him then that bullshit sadness, so she can’t really mind when he grabs her wrist and pulls her back, stopping just short of falling on him, and just looks at her.

‘What?’ Lyanna says, trying to sound brusque, but failing. He’s happy, and she’s glad for that. The weird indigestion feeling is gone now.

‘Thank you, Lya,’ he says. There’s a small smile on his face, and she can tell he means it. That’s something nice of his after-Cersei life: he smiles more than he smirks. She’d tell him, if she was the type to say that shit on a regular basis.

‘Don’t mention it,’ she says. ‘Seriously. Anyways, I’ve got a tailor’s appointment, and then a date with Robert. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’

And when she’s almost at the door, she turns around, because she knows Jaime can’t resist gossip either. ‘Guess who was listening into our little conversation in the morning.’

‘Who?’ Jaime asks.

‘Rhaegar Targaryen,’ she chimes, and runs.

.

While Ashara and Catelyn do convince her to order six dresses and an actual evening gown for the last banquet, Lyanna ensures that she also gets a tunic and breeches commissioned. After all, she does have the meelee to go to, and she is sure that nothing will get in the way of that. After all, Brienne is judging this year, as winner of the previous one, and Lyanna always wants to impress that woman. She is under no doubts that she can win, at least in her sophomore batch. Most of the girls aren’t exactly brilliant at it, and the ones who are aren’t as good as she is.

And medieval renaissance week is fast approaching, actually. It’s only two weeks away, and people have already adopted the spirit and mannerisms of olden times. Lyanna could almost throw up at the sight of guys giving their girlfriends flowers, the girls demurely pressing a kiss on to their cheeks.

Ashara isn’t much better, fluttering her eyelashes at some guy. Ashara, who had dated Brandon while she was in high school and he was going off to college. Ashara, who was one of the most progressive and liberal females she knew. Ashara, who always dressed up as a slutty nurse on Halloween as a silent and self-satisfying protest for the cause of feminism (although that one was completely lost on Lyanna).

‘Oh, I’m afraid I’ve promised my favor to another,’ she giggles. ‘My apologies, good ser.’

Lyanna feels a headache coming. It’s only going to get worse from here on out.

‘My lady!’ Robert yells out at the party that night, the one being held at the Martell’s frat house, and Lyanna wants to _die_. He’s well on his way to being drunk, but she can smell the beer on him. It’s strange how once it didn’t bother how, but now it’s enough for her irritation to blaze.

What the fuck actually happened to her in the last few months?

He’s sitting with Arthur Dayne and Oberyn Martell and Howland Reed, who she recognizes from high school. A few others are around him, but Lyanna couldn’t care which. She decides that’s she will not get through this night without a few drinks, and steals Oberyn’s, who only winks at her. She decides that she is not going to drink way too much tonight.

Robert raises his beer. ‘To Lady Lyanna Stark. May the Gods favor her,’ he booms.

And although Lyanna is sure that these people are all too drunk to understand who or what the fuck is happening, everyone calls out, ‘Hear, hear!’

She feels like she’s missing something, and she isn’t quite sure what. On the excuse of a drink she leaves her seat and goes off to the kitchen, and tries to find something that isn’t beer.

‘Hey,’ Howland says. He’s been standing in the kitchen, she realizes, from the moment he’d walked off from their little group.

‘Oh, hey Howland,’ Lyanna replies, filling her glass with equal part red wine and equal part vodka.

‘You remember me?’ He sounds surprised. He looks lonely. ‘I…’

‘Of course. High school, remember? How’s your dad doing?’ Lyanna asks. She feels strange, off kilter. It’s been a week or two since she’s had a drink.

‘Yeah, he’s good, um,’ Howland says.

‘Sup, man,’ Lyanna says, drinking. It’s absolutely awful, but she has no choice. She wants to leave this conversation, with no offence to Howland. She wants to leave this house and this university and just move somewhere random, where no one will find her. ‘You look tired. And sad. Have a drink.’

‘I have a long walk back,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure why I came, to be honest…I. This isn’t my cup of tea.’

Lyanna wonders what’s happened to her. She loves to party. ‘I’m not sure why I came either.’

Usually, she’d have Jaime to mess with, but he’s having dinner with Tyrion tonight, and no doubt he’ll spend as much time as possible on the only night they have time to catch up. She doesn’t blame him; Lyanna has no qualms about partying alone, but tonight she feels stilted, and off, and lonely and sad. It is festering under her skin like an infected wound that she can’t see or touch or rip into. So she just drinks more.

‘Lyanna, this isn’t my place, but,’ Howland looks increasingly concerned. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t drink anymore. The dorms are a bit off, and.’

‘I need to speak with Lyanna,’ Cersei says, blandly, sliding into the kitchen. Howland quietly acquiesces.

‘Hey, Cers,’ Lyanna says.

For all of their weird circumstances, Lyanna and Cersei have a deep rooted understanding, and an unspoken agreement. They are as similar as they are different, and Lyanna has no doubt it is because of the different kinds of fathers who raised them.  Although Lyanna is accidently cruel in her anger, Cersei wields her cruelty like a weapon. They both hurt equally so, Lyanna has learnt. They’ve both lost their mothers early, both served as the only female figures in male-dominated households, and they both have _expectations_ placed on them. Lyanna doesn’t begrudge Cersei her anger or her ambition, in fact, she understands Cersei. Deeply and completely, in fact. Still, Lyanna isn’t quite like her. Although Cersei may only be pretending to fulfill all expectations, she doesn’t quite have the sense of unpredictability Lyanna does. Cersei, in her own unpredictability, is predictable. She would do anything for her ambition, and everyone knows it. Lyanna’s wildness is something most people don’t even know exists, until it shows itself. At restriction. At honor.

 ‘What are you drinking?’ Cersei asks, rubbing her shiny stiletto against the other one. She is eyeing Lyanna’s boots with well-disguised envy.

Once Lyanna would have been jealous of how petite Cersei’s feet look in the heels, but she’s aware of how easy it is to walk drunk to her dorm in what she’s wearing. ‘Absolute garbage. Want some?’

‘Sure,’ Cersei says. She swallows it down though, albeit making a disgusted face. ‘God, that’s barbaric.’

Lyanna hums noncommittally. ‘What did you want to talk about?’

‘How’s my brother doing?’ Cersei says, so quietly and after so long that Lyanna spits out some of her drink.

‘Fucking hell,’ she curses. ‘Ask him yourself.’

‘I can’t,’ Cersei says, looking both torn and indifferent. Lyanna wonders how she’s managing it. ‘I won’t. I won’t speak to him after what he did. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him.’

For all her faults, Cersei does care about Jaime, Lyanna can tell. It’s just sad that no one really taught Cersei what caring about someone means. She remembers her own words to Jaime.

For a long while she says nothing. ‘He’s good. He’s a lot better.’

Cersei looks pained at that, but hides it well. Lyanna can only see it in her eyes. ‘That’s. Good. What did he tell you about our fight?’

‘That’s between me and him,’ Lyanna says.

‘Did he tell you what he said to me?’ Cersei asks, more pointedly.

‘No,’ Lyanna replies, sipping her drink. Everything seems soft and hazy, like a perfumed envelope.

Cersei scoffs. ‘Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to know what he said to me to make me swear never to speak to him again?’

‘That’s between you and him,’ Lyanna tells her.

Cersei simmers down, it seems. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m glad he has a friend in you.’

‘Not worth much, love,’ Lyanna says, but she’s got a smile on her face.

Cersei mirrors it, going as far as to throw in a borderline affectionate, ‘ _fuck_ you.’, as she walks out. 

Lyanna has another drink, and then walks out slowly. Robert sees her approaching and stands. She’d judge him for his careful steps towards her, if she wasn’t being equally careful.

‘Want to go outside?’ he asks, slowly, his hand rubbing his beard. ‘I’ve heard fresh air does wonders, and we haven’t talked in a while.’

‘No offense, Robert, but we don’t talk much nowadays,’ Lyanna says, walking anyways. ‘What’s this about?’

He looks as embarrassed as Robert can ever seem. ‘Just something Arthur said. About. What women want, or something.’

It’s cold outside, the wind picking up chill. Winter will be upon them soon. Lyanna finds herself regretting not bringing her jacket, but Robert is warm and comfortable, enough that she can feel the heat seem into her back. But the fresh air does do wonders, and she feels less depressed than she was inside that house. In the moonlight and the shimmering sounds of drunken laughter floating through the air, Lyanna finds her mind spinning. Everything is soft and so, so beautiful.

Now, when she looks at Robert, she sees him the way she did six months ago; he is large, tall, imposing. The mirth in his eyes, the strength in his arms. The sharp jut of his cheekbones, his hair, black as night. She doesn’t quite mind being in his arms, in this moment. After a long time in months, they’re not yelling or arguing, or ignoring each other. As he crowds her against the wall at the back of the house, she lets him. She wants to enjoy this for as long as it can last, because she knows it won’t last long. Tomorrow, she’ll be annoyed at him, but not enough to leave him. He’ll be pissed about something or the other, but not enough to argue. They’ll undoubtedly ignore each other unless one of them is horny or they find something to yell about.

‘I’ve missed you, Lyanna,’ he says. He’s drunk, she’s sure, because he isn’t one for sentimentalities otherwise.

She smiles. So is she, though. ‘I haven’t been gone, Robert.’

‘No,’ he agrees, smiling back. ‘You’re right here, though. Now.’

It shocks her how different he looks in this moment. The light bulbs tied to the tree above them dim and then slowly brighten, and she sees the shadows across the planes of his face. Robert is handsome, but by no means beautiful; not like Jaime can be, not like Rhaegar undoubtedly is. She wonders how much more beautiful a man like Rhaegar could look in lighting such as this. Once again, the lights dim and then moments later crescendo. Robert looks beautiful in this moment, and Lyanna puts away all thoughts of everyone else. This is the closest she will ever come to loving Robert; drunk and weak and wanting and lonely and strangely in awe of her life. She wants to remember it. He kisses her, pushes her up, with her back against the wall and kisses her, slow and soft for once. She thinks he’s too drunk for his usual energetic activities, but she doesn’t mind it in the least. After all, being a bad kisser isn’t one of his character flaws.

‘You’re actually a good kisser,’ she says, realizing she hasn’t really complimented him properly throughout their entire relationship.

He grins, and his breath is hot against her neck.

‘Practice makes perfect,’ she muses, grinning back.

He picks her up, her thighs hoisted on his arms, and she bends her head to kiss him.

‘ _You’re_ perfect,’ he says, and she is drunk enough to believe him. 


	2. absinthe was a better lover than you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna regrets drunkenly imagining scenarios, dances with Viserys to forget that shit, and ends up walking home with the guy she's trying to put out of mind and out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta!

The next day is hard, she misses practice with Jaime and wakes up late, so much so that the guy actually shows up at her dorm room to wake her.

Lyanna remembers Howland walking her back, remembers Robert turning in to say goodnight and then finding another beer. Lyanna remembers being thankful to Howland, and to her boots, and to herself. Lyanna remembers a perfect, solitary moment in time. She stumbles to the door and jerks it open.

‘Oh my God, Lya,’ Jaime says.

Lyanna has a decent idea of what he’s talking about. She’s still in her dress, she didn’t take her makeup off last night and ended up sleeping face down so she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit and die, and she can feel her hair sticking up in angles over her head, supported by their own sheer attitude to the world.

‘I can’t do this anymore,’ Lyanna says, collapsing into bed again. Her head is spinning, but it’s no longer the fun kind. The accompanying dizziness comes with a pounding in her temples, and she moans. ‘’Why am I like this.’

‘How drunk were you?’ Jaime asks. ‘How’d you get home?’

‘Drunk enough to like Robert again,’ she says, hears Jaime make a gagging sound in the back. ‘Howland Reed walked me. Nice of the guy, I’ll say. I planned on taking over Oberyn’s room if push came to shove.’

‘Don’t think your boyfriend would be too happy about that,’ Jaime says. He’s rifling through her cupboards, her drawers.

Lyanna couldn’t care less. ‘Robert could care less, with how gone he was. Can’t judge though, so was I.’

‘I leave you alone for one night, and this happens,’ Jaime says, but he sounds fond. God knows she’s put him together after these things enough times. ‘Get up, you need to shower.’

‘I need to make better life choices,’ Lyanna mumbles into her pillow. She can feel her hair all greasy against her face. The bra she’s wearing is annoying and itchy. She forgot to rub deodorant between her thighs and she thinks she might have a rash. ‘I really, really need to make better life choices.’

‘Hey, wrong guy to give advice on that,’ Jaime says. Something clacks against her side table and she looks up. He’s put a tall glass of water and two Tylenol there. In his hands he’s holding a large t-shirt that she’d swiped from him back when they were dating and never given back, and a pair of shorts.

‘C’mon, Lya, up we go,’ he says. ‘Go shower, I’m almost scared to come near that bird’s nest.’

‘Fuck you, not everyone can have naturally silky hair,’ Lyanna says. She mournfully thinks of all the hair products she’ll have to carry with her to the bathroom. Oh, God.

But then she gets up, and drags herself into a bathrobe, gathers up her shit and goes to shower. When she gets out, she feels ten times better, enough to the extent where she feels pretty wiling on giving Jaime a hug for forcing her to. He’s gone when she gets back to her room, though, and as she steps into her clothes she thinks of calling him. But then there’s a knock at her door, and he’s behind it, a bag with two croissants in his hands and a cup of coffee.

Fuck the hug, she could kiss him right now.

‘Jaime, you are a blessing from God,’ she says, grabbing. ‘Oh my God, did you actually run here from the cafeteria?’

He actually blushes at that, which is the cutest and yet most hilarious thing she’s ever seen. ‘Fuck off, Lya. This is payment for the time you saved me from sleeping in a dumpster and made me breakfast, okay? We’re even now.’

She laughs, in much better spirits now. She hadn’t even noticed how hungry she was until she’d taken a bite out of the croissant, and then she’d practically inhaled the rest, sipping her coffee even though it kept burning her tongue. Jaime silently handed over the other one as well, and she realized with a start that she was extremely glad to have him in her life. Not that she would tell him that, she confirmed to herself as she swallowed her pills.

’How was dinner with Tyrion?’ she asked him.

‘It was nice. It’s always nice seeing Tyrion,’ he replies. ‘Come on, class starts in fifteen, we’ll have to run.’

And they run across campus, blazing through; when they get to the Hightower auditorium, they’re both panting from the workout, but smiling. Lyanna’s hair has dried for the most part, and since she’s forgotten to comb it, it tumbles down in errant waves. Jaime’s face is red; for all his strength, he can’t beat her in terms of stamina when it comes to running.

It’s only when they sit down in their usual seat, that she notices Khal Drogo isn’t there yet. He’s usually always there before time, but today he isn’t. As the students all look around in the small but ever-growing hope that they might get free time, their hopes are dashed by Rhaegar’s voice.

‘Khal Drogo won’t be here today, so instead, I’ll be assigning work to you all,’ Rhaegar says. There’s a cacophony of sighs around the room, and it seems that he pities them all, because his voice is softer then. ‘You can submit that work in Monday’s class, however, and you can go home after I’m done assigning.’

As people start to cheer, including Jaime, Lyanna is hit with the mortifying memory of thinking about kissing Rhaegar. Although she had thought him attractive, she hadn’t given much thought to kissing him, apart from last night, where she’d thought it completely normal, and even considered what bloody _lighting_ would make him look more _beautiful ,_ and oh my god -

‘You okay, Lya?’ Jaime asked. ‘You’re all red. Been a while since you ran track, eh?’

Lyanna wants to die of shame and self-judgment. For some reason, she’s considered herself above all those girls who immediately develop crushes on _the_ Rhaegar Targaryen, who dream about kissing him and sleeping with him. Lyanna wants to placate, but who she’s not sure. No one knows about her thoughts except for herself. She wants to tell everyone, _I was drunk._ Except no one knows.

Oh god, she can’t keep looking at him. She turns to Jaime. ‘Yeah, I guess I’m not feeling well. Never drinking that much again.’

‘Don’t say never, my lady,’ Jaime says. Lyanna can hear Rhaegar’s voice in the background, can see him writing on the board in her periphery. ‘Tyrion’s hosting a party Saturday night, he wanted me to bring you.’

‘Ugh, won’t all the graduate students be there?’ Lyanna asks.

Jaime shrugs. ‘Who cares? Tyrion always has great snacks with the alcohol.’

Lyanna remembers her own disgusting concoction last night, and almost heaves. No, she definitely needs good alcohol. ‘Cool, cool. But we’ll have to make up in practice tomorrow. For today, and for the next one.’

Jaime smirks, knowing that both of them are likely to be incapacitated come Sunday morning. ‘I like how you think.’

When the time comes to write down the assignment, Lyanna resolutely ignores Rhaegar.

 _Just pretend he’s a lamp,_ she tells herself. _Out of sight, out of mind._

.

Except he’s there at Tyrion’s party, decidedly not out of sight or out of mind. Robert is off with his friends, so he’s not here, but his younger brother is frowning heavily at the alcohol selection like it personally offends him. Why anyone would invite Stannis Baratheon to a party is lost on Lyanna, but why he would actually show up is even more confusing to her.

Lyanna’s put on a dress for the occasion, but she isn’t exactly too happy about it, and remained adamant on her boots. ‘When you lean on me completely wasted and I don’t tip the fuck over, you can thank me for these,’ she’d told Jaime.

Everyone’s wearing shiny, glittery outfits, and Lyanna’s navy-blue sequined dress fits right in. She doesn’t like it.

And there’s Rhaegar, in a charcoal black three piece suit that’s not exactly doing anything to help her imagination.

 _He’s a lamp,_ Lyanna thinks furiously, _he’s a fucking lamp.’_

‘What’s a pretty girl like you thinking so hard about?’ a random guy standing near her asks.

‘Lamps,’ Lyanna replies on reflex, and then blanches. She isn’t supposed to be thinking about lamps. The only reason to envision him as a lamp is to dehumanize him, and ignore the living fuck out of him.

‘I’m sorry?’ The guy isn’t bad looking, though, even when he’s frowning in confusion.   

‘Never mind, I just need another drink,’ Lyanna says, already walking away, ‘Excuse me.’

When she gets to the alcohol table, she takes a deep breath and asks the waiter for a glass of wine. Damn, this is some fancy shit, she thinks, sipping her Chardonnay.

Jaime’s off talking to Tyrion somewhere, and there are people dancing on the make-shift dance floor that’s actually just the living room. The music isn’t too loud, but the bass thumps where she’s standing and so she abandons the room she’s in and heads to the other one. People are talking here, some woman’s lying draped across the piano like she belongs there. It all seems very Great-Gatsby-ish. Lyanna takes in the opulence and money and wonders why she can’t just settle into this.

‘Lyanna! Hey!’ Catelyn’s voice cuts through. Oh god. Where the fuck is Jaime? ‘We didn’t know you were going to be here!’

‘Yeah, it was a real last minute thing,’ Lyanna nods. ‘Otherwise I would have totally told you guys.’

Ashara’s behind Catelyn, in a low cut dress that flares around her hips. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. We were starting to get bored.’

‘Same,’ Lyanna says, draining her glass. She wasn’t particularly religious, but prayed for a savior before Catelyn could ask what she was so itching to ask.

‘So, where’s Robert?’ Catelyn asks, when Lyanna doesn’t say anything. ‘You guys are so cute together.’

‘He’s off with his friends tonight,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘You know men.’

‘You’re such a great girlfriend,’ Catelyn says. ‘I wish I had a relationship like yours.’

Lyanna is rapidly starting to lose faith in God. ‘I mean, it’s alright…’

‘He’s so handsome, though,’ Cat says. ‘And so strong.’

 _And so drunk._ Lyanna mumbles again.

‘Ooh, look it’s that delicious Doran Martell,’ Ashara says. ‘He was such a cutie when we were small, and look at him now.’

‘Didn’t you grow up with him?’ Catelyn asks. ‘Wasn’t he like, a brother to you?’

‘Sadly, yes,’ Ashara sighs. ‘Plus, he’s practically married to his high school sweetheart.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate him.’

And Doran Martell is rather delicious, Lyanna can concur, even if he looks slightly dull amidst all the sparkle of the party.

‘His sister is Elia, right?’ Catelyn asks, as Lyanna swipes a Bloody Mary from a passing waiter.

‘The one who’s married to Rhaegar?’ Lyanna asks all qualms about taking his name forgotten. The drink has helped her inner-lawyer argue and settle the we-don’t-like-married-men-we-were-just-really-sad-and-desperate case. 

And speak of the devil; mere moments after she’s said the name, Rhaegar walks into the room she’s in. Lyanna throws a betrayed look at the God above. _Seriously?_ She asks. _You won’t give me a rescuer when I pray for one, but you’ll send him waltzing in when I take his name?_

Arthur’s talking to him, and Oberyn seems to be keen on silently judging him. Lyanna tries to put them all out of her mind. She plans to stay absolutely silent, and just keep on slowly sipping her drink. Thankfully, it’s only a brief detour – Arthur nods at his sister and walks out with his company back into the living room.

 She spots the Greyjoy brother’s near the doorway, and is almost desperate enough to talk to Maron, even if he is an absolute piece of garbage most of the time. Roderik isn’t too bad either; She’d gotten him as her guide last year, and he’d been fairly good company.

‘Weren’t you and Elia good friends?’ Catelyn asks.

Ashara looks pensive. ‘Best friends when we were kids, though we kind of…drifted apart in high school. And after, we barely saw each other.’

‘Well, that’s just sad,’ Catelyn says, ‘Isn’t that sad, Lyanna?’

‘My life is sad,’ Lyanna says, finishing her drink. The chilli vodka has missed her as much as she’s missed it. ‘But yes, very sad. Excuse me, ladies; I’m going to get another drink.’

As she grabs an extremely feminine looking cocktail from the bar, she wonders why she isn’t having fun. She had fun last year, but then, last year Brandon had been there to dance with her, and drink with her. Maron catches her eye and waves at her.

‘Hello, darling,’ he says. Out of all the men she knows, she has a feeling Maron would be the one most likely to kill someone with his own hands. She knows everyone here is rich and influential enough to order and pay a super secret assassin to kill someone, but Maron seems like the guy who would go up to someone and stab them himself. She kind of respects that. ‘What in the fuck is that drink? Looks gay.’

It tastes gay, if a drink can taste that way. She finishes it in two sips and flags a passing waiter. ‘You’d know, wouldn’t you, Maron?’

Roderik laughs, and Maron tips his head. ‘Almost missed that sharp tongue of yours. We don’t have any classes together this year, sadly.’

‘Yeah, I’m still not sure why I ended up in Marine biology last year,’ Lyanna says. That’s where they’d met after all. ‘But it was extremely informative, when you could shut your mouth.’

‘Oh, please,’ Maron says, replacing his empty glass with a glass of rum and coke. ‘You’d literally cover your face with your hair and sleep on my shoulder.’

 ‘That’s because you wouldn’t stop talking,’ Lyanna says, and they laugh.

‘You still owe me a dance, though,’ Maron says, ‘From that time in winter formal.’

 She almost feels okay about coming here. From this entry way she can hear the music, the couples dancing, the shimmering dresses. She spots Viserys Targaryen in the corner, before she sees Daenarys approach them.

‘Hello, loves,’ she says. Lyanna adores her political science classmate. ‘Lyanna, let me tell you, that graphical analysis was fabulous in the last class, darling.’

‘I can’t wait to see yours,’ Lyanna tells her.

‘Come, come,’ Dany says, grabbing her hand and pulling. ‘Excuse us girls, gentlemen, we have shots awaiting us.’

‘You owe me a dance, Lyanna!’ Maron yells.

Lyanna laughs in spite of herself. ‘Ask me during renaissance week, Greyjoy, and we’ll see.’

She and Dany do three shots each: one of tequila, one of rum, and one of bourbon. Lyanna finds herself giggling by the end of it, she and Dany clutching each other’s shoulders and laughing.

‘Dany,’ she says, stuffing one of the small pastry cakes into her mouth. ‘Your brother seems to be in a shit mood.’

‘Rhaegar’s face is like that, darling,’ Dany answers, chewing thoughtfully. She is the biggest mom-friend Lyanna has, and she is adamant that they will not have a hangover come morning.

‘Actually, I meant Viserys,’ Lyanna says, slightly pissed because she’d been doing so well to put Rhaegar out of her sight and out of her mind.

‘Oh. Yeah, he’s always in a shit mood,’ Dany says. ‘The only time his mood improves is when he’s going through the official jewelry catalogue coming out in summer, or when he’s showing off his ballroom dancing with a pretty girl, or…’

‘Lyanna, Lyanna, oh my God,’ Dany says. ‘He’ll be so happy, oh my God, he might just agree to write my dissertation.’

‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ Lyanna is so confused. She’s also pretty tipsy.

‘He loves dancing, it’s probably the only thing he’s better than Rhaegar at, and it’ll cheer him up,’ Dany says. ‘And of course, you’ll have some fun. Don’t think I haven’t seen you morosely eyeing the dance floor.’

Well. It has been a while since Brandon, and Robert isn’t one for ballroom dancing. Lyanna was wondering if those lessons really were in waste. ‘I don’t even know him.’

‘Oh, don’t lie. He was your TA briefly, for psychology last year. Plus, he’s thrown back like, four shots since we’ve been here,’ Dany shakes a finger at her. ‘I’m telling you, he’s a great dancer, and you won’t regret this.’

‘Oh, don’t try to spin this like you’re doing this for me,’ Lyanna says, but her resolve has weakened. She loves dancing. And lately, she’s found herself missing the kind of dancing that doesn’t include grinding or twerking. ‘I am doing this for you, Dany, and your dissertation.’

‘Me and my dissertation will never forget you,’ Dany says, kissing her cheek.

Lyanna sniffs. ‘I expect brunch at La’Farriies or whatever that new fancy French café is.’

Dany shoos her, smiling brilliantly. ‘Done and done.’

As she walks over to Viserys Targaryen, Lyanna is suddenly extremely glad she wore a pretty dress that she can dance in.

She taps his shoulder. ‘Hey, there.’

He jumps, and bangs into a lamp. _Oh my god_ , Lyanna thinks. _Don’t look for him._

‘Excuse me?’ he asks. ‘You’re Lyanna, right? I kind of remember you.’

‘Yeah, psych 101,’ she says. God, it’s hard to have coherency of thought when she’s tipsy. ‘Look at that dance floor though.’ 

It’s a testament to how drunk he is that he actually does, and scoffs. ‘Look at them,’ he says. ‘None of them have a clue about dancing properly.’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ she says, blinking. The music is louder where they’re standing. ‘Look at that idiot, that’s not how you cha-cha. The girl doesn’t know how to keep a straight leg if her life depended on it.’

She’s caught his interest. ‘Are you trained?’

‘Yes, ballroom and latin,’ she says. ‘Although I highly feel like it was a waste of time and money.’

‘And why would that be?’ he asks. His is pretty, in a harsh way that the Targaryen’s seem to have perfected. Of course, he doesn’t even come close to – NO _. Oh my God, no thinking about the lamp_ , Lyanna tells herself.

Lyanna shrugs. ‘Haven’t had a good partner in ages.’

It’s like he lights up. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I’m trained.’

She smiles, larger than she needs to. It’s fine to be cheeky with this particular Targaryen, she knows. He’s not her type in the least. ‘I have been told you’re a good dancer, although unfortunately, I haven’t seen the truth in that statement.’

He smirks. It’s not a bad look on him, she thinks, as he extends a hand. ‘Shall we show these people how it’s done, then?’

She puts her hand in his. ‘Let’s go.’

As they walk up to the music handler, she sees people start to notice them; it’s only made worse when the guy lowers the music. He’s obviously listening well enough, and promises the next song to be _Por Una Cabeza_.

‘You are familiar with the argentine tango, I presume?’ Viserys asks as they walk towards one of the couches. ‘Also, are those boots?’

‘I am indeed. We’re starting with quite a serious dance,’ she says. ‘And yes, they are.’

As the pop song comes to a slow stop, Viserys takes his jacket off. He’s wearing a grey three piece, and Lyanna is extremely envious of the Targaryen’s tailor. ‘You’ll have to take those off then, we can’t argentine tango while you’re in boots. And also, waistcoat on, or off?’

 _He’s actually not that bad to be around,_ Lyanna thinks. _At least when he’s drunk or ready to dance._ He’d been an absolute menace to some of the Psych 101 kids.  

‘On for now, but you can take it off later, if it gets too hot,’ she says, ‘and I’m too drunk to take these off myself. They’ve got laces.’

He looks annoyed as he places his coat carefully folded on the couch side.

‘Should I start the music, Mr. Targaryen?’ the music guy yells.

Lyanna cringes. People turn and stare. Lyanna cringes harder.

‘Not yet, I’m helping the lady get her shoes off,’ Viserys yells back. Then he looks at her. ‘Well, sit down, then.’

He sits on the opposite end of the sofa, and starts pulling her shoes off. In front of her sight, Lyanna can see Catelyn and Ashara sigh and fawn and giggle at her. This is why she doesn’t drink. This is so surreal.

 He dumps her boots to the side, and looks at her questioningly. ‘Obviously, you’ll have to trust me with some of the lifts.’

Lyanna laughs, and settles a hand in his as they approach the floor. Everyone’s suddenly cleared out. ‘I learnt with Brandon, you can’t get crazier than him on the lifts.’

He grins then, sharp. ‘Oh, watch me.’

This might have been a bad idea, Lyanna thinks, briefly, before the music starts. The carpet ends and the floor begins, and she lets herself fall into practiced steps. Initially, they’re slow, slightly stilted, but as her knee gets accustomed to bending at his hip, and as he understands how to work her weight around, they’re suddenly flying through the motions, bending in synchronization, sharp as a whip, all angles. She’s always loved the argentine tango, with its edges and speed, its passion and fire, and Viserys loves it too.

‘I’m going to throw you up on your hands, angle your legs up,’ he whispers into her neck, a second before he pushes her upwards on her hands, and Lyanna’s leg’s are straight as twin swords in the air before he brings her down and they circle again.

She laughs, suddenly. She’d forgotten how much she loved to dance. ‘You’re good at this.’

He smiles, and it’s probably the only genuine smile Lyanna of all people has ever seen on him. ‘You’re not too bad yourself, love. End note, let’s make it a bit more scandalous.’

She grins, and lets him twirl her around, clockwise and then anti-clockwise, the movement jarring, her head spinning with the alcohol and her heart pounding with the exercise; as the last violin soars she hooks one leg around his waist and bends backwards the moment she feels his hand support her lower spine. They remain like that for a good moment or two, panting, before he starts pushing her spine straight up. People explode into applause, the cheer almost deafening. She grins at Viserys and she can tell they’d both forgotten the crowd into the more difficult routine.

Out of them all, Dany is cheering the loudest. Viserys actually smiles at his sister, and Dany looks ecstatic. Even Jaime and Tyrion are there, clapping. She wants to go over and ask them where the fuck they’d been, but Viserys is still holding her.

‘More,’ the crowd is chanting. ‘More!’

‘What do you say?’ Viserys asks her. ‘You can pick the dance this time.’

Lyanna can only laugh. ‘Let’s salsa.’

‘I had a feeling you’d say that,’ Viserys says, amidst cheers, and as opening of _Cuba_ starts, he takes her hand again.

She gets into position, remembering the steps she’d learnt and taught to countless others.

‘Let’s get a bit more risky,’ he says after a minute or so, and she grins. It’s a mix of twirls, and turns and lifts, and as he tilts her back she unwittingly opens her eyes and catches Rhaegar’s for a split second; it is only his purple eyes that make her sure it is him. As she looked into Viserys’ eyes of the same color, she suddenly feels short of breath, and wonders why she has to ruin a perfectly good evening.

She throws herself into the dance, trying to forget that he’d been looking at her. She lets Viserys guide her more, his spins getting faster. Her legs burn, slip against the polished floor so that her grip is tight on his arms, but he must secretly work out or something, because the next time he twirls her, he pushes her up and catches her by the legs. The thing she loves about dancing with a proper partner is how you can tell what the other is planning immediately, and at his whispered request, she only has to nod before he steps into position.

‘On the chorus, grab my hands to come down,’ he tells her, before he hoists her thighs onto her arms, and then onto his shoulders. The crowd around them screams, and she’ll admit, this move is beyond scandalous, her crotch literally inches from her face – but that’s dancing. As he starts slow spinning, Lyanna starts tilting back her arms towards the ground as he speeds up spinning, until she’s literally flying, held to him only by her hooked ankles behind his neck. As the chorus fades, she takes his arms and allows him to set her down, a few more simple steps and another quick twirl into his arms, and then he twirls her out.

They’re both panting from exertion; Lyanna’s thighs are cramping, and her feet hurt from the friction of the floor, but she’s hugging Viserys as she’s hugged by Dany from the back. People are clapping her on the back, singing praise to Viserys and her; Maron puts a new drink in her hand. Jaime gives her a hug, whooping loudly. Catelyn and Ashara have taken to begging Viserys for a dance, and he kisses Lyanna’s hand before he turns to them.

Dany hugs her again, and the happiness she sees when Viserys sidesteps Catelyn and Ashara to ask his sister to dance is enough to convince Lyanna she did good. Jaime throws an arm around her shoulders, and guides her to the couch. People are starting to dance again, more exhilarated than they were before. As she settles down, Lyanna feels quite satisfied with herself. But maybe that has to with the fact that she feels much more sober now.

As she settles down to put her boots on, she hears Jaime say he’s going to go dance with Ashara.

‘Go get em, tiger,’ she says. She decides the night has been good, and nothing can top this particular adventure, especially not now.

When her boots are laced tightly, Lyanna slips out of the house and into the night, her martini glass still in her hand. As she walks out, she realizes her blood was almost boiling inside; she’s sweaty and hot, and the cold air hits her with an intensity that makes her feel completely sober, instead of just a little bit. She sips her martini, and regrets not bringing a coat, or a gentleman with her.

‘Damnit, Lyanna,’ she says, draining her little glass. ‘Coats are important. Jackets are essential, from now on. Why am I _like this?!_ ’

And then she hears something in the bush behind her, something that sounds a lot like a person. Although this is the safest area in town, Lyanna still turns and throws her glass at the stranger behind her.

Except he sidesteps it in the last second, and looks at her like she’s crazy.

‘Oh my God,’ Lyanna says, giving up on her luck. ‘Are you trying to scare me to death?’

Rhaegar doesn’t exactly look offended, though. ‘I was going to offer you my jacket, before you so threw a martini glass at me. Good aim, I’ll say.’

Lyanna blinks. She’s confused, and tired, and so, so sick of this weird feeling inside of her now, whenever she looks at him. Why can’t she just go back to laughing about his harp? Is that her asking for too much? Why’d she have to get drunk and think about how pretty he is?

‘Um, yeah, I thought you were a creep,’ she says. Minutes ago, she was dancing with his _brother,_ in a highly successful attempt to stop feeling like a piece of trash who thinks about kissing married men. She’d forgotten about him in her world of dancing. Now, he’s standing in front of her, and there’s those damn light bulbs going on and off, and what in the fuck is up with the light bulbs hanging on trees, though? Who the fuck came up with that shit? ‘Thank you for the compliment, I guess.’

‘Going home already?’ he asks. ‘People must be lining up to dance with you. You were rather brilliant.’

Although Lyanna knows she’s a great dancer, she still feels proud of herself at hearing that. It’s a nice compliment, she tells herself, don’t be like that. ‘Nah, your brother can take care of them. It’s too cold, and too late for something better to come along.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asks. His jacket looks super warm, and Lyanna eyes it enviously, all the while swearing that she won’t take it.

She shrugs, trying not to shiver. ‘You know, it’s just. I think the night had its peak. I could sit there and drink more, and forget things tomorrow, or I could stay and waste time knowing I’ve already had an exhilarating experience for the day.’

He looks slightly confused, but he’s also smiling. Lyanna rationalizes her thoughts. It’s been a while since she’s had sex, and Rhaegar is objectively one of the most attractive people she’s ever seen. It would make sense that she’d think about kissing him when she was drunk.

‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a twenty minute walk to my dorm ahead of me.’

As she turns to go, he calls out. ‘Are you going alone? Don’t you have someone with you?’

Lyanna shrugs, not looking back. Out of sight, out of mind. ‘Don’t need one, I’ll be fine.’

She hears his footsteps as he jogs to catch up with her. ‘I was actually heading the same way, so I’ll walk you.’

She blanches, but doesn’t stop walking. She has a feeling that the moment she remains stationary for way too long, her legs will freeze over and she’ll die. ‘You really don’t, I walk alone all the time. This place is super safe, so you honestly don’t need to do this. I’m not even as wasted as I usually am, and… you’re still going to walk me to my dorm, no matter what I say, aren’t you?’

Rhaegar almost smiles at that, and Lyanna feels breathless as fuck. She decidedly blames it on the dancing. ‘Technically, I’m walking with you, towards the general direction of your dorms. So, yes. You can’t stop a man from taking a walk.’

Lyanna feels charmed against her will, and is disgusted by her returned smile. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dare to presume.’

The more they walk, it’s like the colder it gets, and Lyanna can’t help but feel like the universe really hates her; or that one of the angels up there just wants to turn her life into a Spanish telenovela. She’s desperately trying not to shiver, to not risk Rhaegar’s gentleman-wrath on her.

‘So, how long have you been trained for dance?’ he asks, a few minutes into her internal monologue.

‘Oh, you know,’ Lyanna says, dying inside of how her hands are made of ice now. ‘Started as a kid. Almost eight or something, and then, I just loved it.’

‘Ah,’ Rhaegar says. ‘I had to learn, of course, mother was adamant we were all cultured. My favorite was always the waltz, though.’

‘Hey, that’s my favorite too,’ Lyanna tells him. Curse this patriarchal society that doesn’t give women pockets in dresses.  ‘I would have guessed that though, you do seem like the waltz type.’

‘The waltz type?’ Rhaegar asks.

The only good thing about this chill is that it’s made her completely numb to her self-judgment. Walking beside him, talking to him, it’s not hard. He’s not a bad guy to be around, and he hasn’t been inappropriate in the least. Lyanna can just accept the fact that he’s hot, and that _if_ he were single, she’d have given the idea more thought. He’s just being nice, and the only reason Lyanna feels discomforted is because it’s been a while since she’s met a sincerely nice guy. She’s just being stupid, and hormonal, and blowing things out of proportion. An imaginary kiss isn’t anything to be ashamed of; people think about kissing random friends all the time. It doesn’t say anything about them wanting to love them, or even actually do it.

‘Well, you – my kind, essentially,’ she answers, feeling much more comfortable with herself. ‘The waltz is a very self-confident dance; if either partner isn’t absolutely sure on what step to take, or where to turn, it falls apart. You need to trust yourself to be right, and trust the other person to be right as well.’

‘Take my jacket,’ Rhaegar says.

Lyanna feels confused. ‘What?’

‘Take my jacket,’ he repeats, eyebrows going up.  ‘You look like you’ll die.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Lyanna sniffs, trying to not grab it as Rhaegar takes it off. Oh my God, she needs to know who this tailor is, because Rhaegar’s suit is fucking amazing. ‘Seriously, I’m from the North, I once walked home in a bikini during winter, this is nothing.’

He’s holding it out to her. ‘Just take it. I’m sure you’re alright with getting sick tomorrow, but I’d feel awful if you did even though I could have helped prevent it.’

Well, it is just a jacket, Lyanna thinks. He’s being decent, and it’s nice. ‘Won’t you get cold?’ she presses, smiling. She doesn’t exactly mind the banter.

Rhaegar breathes in heavily for a minute before he notices her smile. ‘Lyanna,’ he says. It’s the first time he’s actually taken her name.

‘What? I’m just saying, what if you get sick?’ Lyanna continues, grinning. ‘What if you get the flu, oh handsome princes Rhaegar; however shall the girls in Medieval Arts possibly justify their presence in a course they don’t have any clue about?’

He actually gives out a laugh at that, and Lyanna’s amazed by how different he looks. She feels like telling him he should laugh more often, but then she remembers the whole _harp_ incident, and her own reaction to it. Shit.

‘Jesus,’ he says, and drops his jacket on her bare shoulders. ‘ _Handsome Prince Rhaegar?_ ’

Oh, shit. Freudian slip, much? Lyanna backtracks. ‘Well, that is your name amongst the ladies…you do know most of them have taken up the class so they can catch glimpses of you, right?’

On anyone else, she’d call that blushing. ‘I doubt that.’

‘Ooh, trust me,’ she tells him. She can feel the warmth of his jacket seeping into her shoulders. ‘You have a crazy following. You know that pepper-rate-a-TA thing they came up with? You got ten out of ten chilli peppers.’

‘I don’t remember my college years being anything like this,’ Rhaegar says, laughing.

He has this strange tinge on his cheeks, and Lyanna wants to coo at him for being so adorable, except it would kind of be very similar to laughing at him, so she says nothing.

‘What can I say,’ Lyanna says, smiling. ‘It’s a brave new world.’

Over the course of the next ten minutes, they discuss dystopian era novels, he rather passionately defends 1984 to be the defining one, while Lyanna argues for the representation of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World as the inspiration for Orwell. She barely notices when they reach her dorm, because it has been so long since she’s had a conversation like this with someone. As they stand there talking, Lyanna is suddenly extremely glad he came with her. He’s clearly developing into someone she could see herself being good friends with, and with that comes the comforting knowledge that she can happily shove him into the friend zone and never judge herself again.

‘The Giver was beautiful, though simplistic in its structure,’ Rhaegar tells her. His eyes are passionate, more so than she’s ever seen them. ‘You know, people often become very cynical in this world, and it is so, so easy to. I know that more than most. You can argue with the philosophy majors on what is the defining characteristic on being human, you can talk to your friends about pain and suffering and heartbreak – I mean, we always complain about how feeling things so deeply is our greatest burden, we drink away our emotions, and we laugh them off when we can’t do that. And it might just be me, but I think the entire point of being human is to experience every emotion to its utmost capacity, whether it is excruciating heartbreak, or unending joy and – wow. Look at me, going off on a tangent.’

‘No, no, keep going, please,’ Lyanna says. ‘I get what you mean though, because the only moment of perfection you experience is when you let yourself be carried away with that emotion, when you stop fighting it and you just, accept it. That’s when you cease to be so real, that’s when you turn into art. And not just you, everything you touch turns into art when you experience the peak of joy, or sadness.’

Rhaegar is nodding as she speaks, smiling softly, like he can’t believe someone’s agreeing with him. ‘And that capacity for emotion that everyone seems to try to numb out these days is just the most defining characteristic of that inner peace everyone keeps longing for - ’

‘ – and they don’t understand, that every single moment of it is absolutely worth it. And yes, you can argue that the whole thing is extremely romanticized, but you can’t argue the fact that to feel is inherently human, and taking that away from people, and binding them into similar cookie cutter molds - ’

‘- doesn’t achieve a thing, because in your urge to conform, you let go of so many bad things. You let go of so many bad things, and you think good riddance, because you don’t have to feel anger, or heartbreak, or betrayal, but you also lose out on the good things, the small, simple things that make it all worth it - ’

‘ – And I’m a personal believer in the fact that both these things are equal, that you can’t have one without the other. You can’t know infinite joy unless you’ve experienced infinite sadness,’ Lyanna finishes. They’re both smiling widely, almost panting from how serious they are about the conversation.

‘We prefer to do things comfortably,’ Rhaegar quotes.

‘But I don’t want comfort,’ Lyanna quotes back, smiling brighter than she has in ages. ‘I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.’

He gives a small laugh in front of her, and Lyanna is shocked by how glad she is for his company. But it’s getting late, and she doesn’t want to ruin this moment by thinking stupid things, so she digs her key out from her boot and hands his jacket over.

‘Well, as lovely as this has been, I think we should both head in,’ Lyanna says. ‘And here I thought nothing would top the dancing.’

‘Well, I’m better at words than I am at dancing,’ Rhaegar echoes, taking his jacket from her and putting it on.

‘Thank you for walking me, kind Ser,’ Lyanna tells him, all in good faith. ‘I will not forget your bravery. The kingdoms will all regard your courage for centuries to come, and your story will be told to many a freshmen walking home from parties.’

Rhaegar laughed again, and it made Lyanna laugh too. ‘It is I who should be thanking you, Lady Lyanna. I haven’t had such good company in…ages, actually. So thank you.’

Lyanna decides to make a quick escape in case things get weird. It was so easy to talk to him about books and ideas and philosophy, but insanely awkward when it turned even the slightest bit personal. ‘You’re welcome. I’ll see you around, yeah?’

He nodded, still smiling. She’d never seen him smile so much, and she was suddenly glad she’d made him less serious than he usually was. ‘Goodnight, Lyanna.’

‘Goodnight, Rhaegar,’ she said, opening her door. ‘Thanks again.’

‘You too,’ he calls out, and as she turns to shut the door, she’s struck once again by how utterly beautiful he is. He smiles, wider, and lights up the street.

.

Although it is a Sunday, Lyanna finds herself oddly energetic, and wakes up at her regular seven am time. She proceeds to judge herself for being so proactive, and tries to go back to sleep, but for some strange reason, can’t. The only thing she can do in a situation like this is to ruin someone else’s morning, so she calls up Jaime.

 _God, I need more friends,_ she thinks, before he picks up.

‘Oh, God,’ he moans into the speaker.

‘Ha,’ Lyanna scoffs, before shutting up her laughter. After all, if it wasn’t for the dancing, she’d be in a similar state. ‘How’s our golden boy doing this morning?’

‘’Fuckin’ kill me god damnit,’ Jaime says. ‘Lyanna, if you ever loved me even a little, you’ll kill me.’

‘Good thing I don’t love you then,’ Lyanna tells him. She feels oddly remorseful at leaving him to suffer all on his lonesome.

‘Oh god, I’m never drinking again,’ Jaime almost cries.

‘Ha,’ Lyanna scoffs again, before hanging up.

She makes her way with a coffee and two donuts instead, because he has always been extra nice to her when she’s hung over, and because she might have meant it a little when she said, ‘you being sad makes me sad.’

Domeric opens the suite door again, and Lyanna is always thankful to God for ensuring that whenever she has met Domeric, he has been in various states of undress. Sometimes, it’s just nice to look at pretty things you don’t really want. And although that’s a highly sexist way to objectify men, Lyanna feels justified due to the thousands of years of patriarchy.

‘Hello, love,’ Domeric says. Lyanna knows with a surety that if she ever wanted a quick lay fuck with no fuss afterwards, he would be her guy. ‘You look rather brilliant for someone who went to the same party Jaime did.’

‘Cheers, darling. And I didn’t drink as much; kind of just slipped out after the dancing,’ Lyanna tells him. She feels like she should’ve brought another coffee, but that would ruin the imaginary-hypothetical friends-with-benefits scenario she has ongoing with him.

Domeric grins. ‘Oh, yeah, I saw some videos. Damn, Lya, never knew you were hiding that shit.’

‘Oh, God, damn snap chat shit,’ Lyanna says, jumping over dirty underwear. She will never get over why men’s underwear is always on the floor. Although, it’s a pretty hypocritical thought, considering she once found her panties hanging from a light fixture after a heavy night of drinking.

‘Hey, you looked hot as fuck,’ Domeric says, and Lyanna seriously needs to get laid. She’s finding Robert today.

‘Thanks, love,’ Lyanna says, heading to Jaime’s room. He’s collapsed on his bed, with those cheap ass sheets she bought with him after he threw his old, thousand thread count sheets into the trash in a moment of passion. They’re from Walmart, white with black squiggles. For some reason, looking at Jaime drool into his twelve dollar sheets makes her feel a strange sense of affection. Lyanna once again, classifies it as indigestion.

‘Good Ser, I have brought reinforcements to help you with your siege,’ Lyanna announces. ‘Come, ser, we must fight till the death.’

‘God, kill me,’ Jaime moans.

In a few minutes, Jaime will sit up looking like garbage, or Lyanna will push him out of bed. She’ll feed him his food, and some Tylenol, and ask him to tell her the rest of the story. It’s a routine she strangely likes now, and she doesn’t mind the banality of it.

Except while Jaime shuffles into the shower, Lyanna checks her messages and face-palms. Because obviously, Robert’s seen the snaps already, and he’s obviously going to pick a fight over it.

[R] _lya wtf_

[R] _with the dragonass wtf_

[R] we _need to talk you need some help_

[R] _this is an outrage_

[R] _this_ _is preposterous_

[R] _he could have touched you in a bad way_

When Jaime comes back, he finds Lyanna lying face down in his bed, and moaning.

‘Uh, could’ve sworn that was my line,’ he says.

‘God, kill me,’ Lyanna yells into the pillow.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review's give me life!


	3. it just burns like a fire in the pit of his eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Robert have a talk that achieves nothing, Brandon shows up, Jaime and Lyanna judge each other briefly, and Lyanna ends up spending her overnight library space with an unexpected visitor.

‘Lyanna,’ Robert says.

Lyanna remains crumpled to the table, her head stuck to the top and her hair all around her. Robert can see an errant one curling near his meat pie, and pokes it away with a fork.

‘Lyanna,’ he repeats. ‘This is serious. Do you need a therapist? Mother had a great one -’

‘I don’t want a therapist, Robert,’ Lyanna rises from her table-grave. ‘But if I did, I would never ask for your mothers.’

‘I’m just saying,’ he says, shrugging, and he looks like he’s there for her benefit, like she’s the one that needs to be reassured about how she’s not crazy. ‘You sure you don’t want some pie?’

 ‘Yes, I’m fine with my coffee, thanks,’ Lyanna says. She doesn’t even want to be pissy; he’s actually being pretty decent right now, but she knows for a fact that he’s going to say something absolutely obnoxious that makes her want to shove the pie up his ass and -

‘You had your crotch in his face,’ Robert says, and for all the things Lyanna doesn’t approve of about him, his tactlessness and bluntness have never been one of them.

Lyanna shrugs. ‘It’s a dance move. I’ve done it with Brandon, too.’ That’s a lie, but shoving your crotch three centimeters from your brother’s mouth has got to be where she’s drawing the line.

‘Viserys is weird, Lya, you know that,’ Robert says. As always, he’s discomforted whenever she flippantly responds to his accusations. ‘I mean, you had him for psych, he’s a total creep.’

‘Well, we weren’t exactly conversing about our hopes and dreams, Robert,’ she tells him. She’s swirled the foam on top of her coffee into her coffee and it looks absolutely dejecting now. ‘He’s a good dance partner, I’m a good dancer, and it had been a while since Brandon left. You know how it is.’

‘God Damnit, Lya, fine,’ Robert grouses. ‘Let’s just have breakfast. Let me tell you how Renly snuck in to the party last night.’

Lyanna is suddenly struck by the urge to go back to last night, to the high of dancing, to the warming jacket atop her bare shoulders when she was walking; she wants to go back to Jaime’s shitty sheets that were still warm from his body when he left to shower. She doesn’t want to be here, at nine am on a Sunday, looking across the table at her boyfriend who is actually talking after God knows how long.

‘Wow,’ she says, dead, downing her coffee, using he bitterness as an excuse to pull a face. ‘Amazing.’

.

‘You ready for renaissance week?’ Ashara asks. ‘Also, Lyanna, never knew you were so flexible, girl.’

_Oh God._ ‘You know, not really into it this year. All I’m focused on is the melee,’ Lyanna says. This is not how she wanted to spend her Sunday. She’s almost ready to go to her dorm and study. ‘Oh, and thanks, I guess.’

Just then, her phone buzzes.

[B] _guess whos gonna be in town for RW lil sis_

[B] _I know you missed me L_

[B] _cant wait to see my darling_

[B] _gotta go, dad’ll set the dogs on me. Call me when youre free_

‘Oh my god,’ Lyanna blurts out, excited. ‘Holy shit, Brandon’s coming for renaissance week. Count me the fuck in!’

‘Dude, Brandon’s fucking hot,’ Ashara says, eyes gleaming. ‘Like the hottest. I remember last year, when he used to strip his shirt off after every rugby match. Ugh.’

‘Dude, he’s my brother,’ Lyanna says, without as much disgust as she should be having.

‘I have a picture,’ Ashara tells her, already opening her phone. ‘You wanna see it? Here, let me show you.’

‘Please don’t, I don’t want to see that, I grew up with him,’ Lyanna says, cringing.

And then she has a phone in her face and Brandon’s sweaty abs and Brandon’s sweaty black hair so similar to hers flopping around, falling onto his forehead and pixilating in the picture Ashara’s zoomed it. And come to think of it, Ashara isn’t really wrong. Brandon is kinda hot, in a totally objective way –

_This is all because of Jaime and his weird sister-liking bullshit,_ Lyanna is judging herself severely. _God, I need better friends._

‘Mmmhmm, yeah, cool,’ Lyanna says, whacking Ashara’s hand away from her face.

‘You know, everyone’s coming in for R Week,’ Ashara tells her as they walk. ‘My brother’s going to be everywhere, your brothers are coming, all the weird people we don’t talk to – oh, Elia might come as well. Everyone was saying she’s sick, but she wouldn’t miss this. At least, I don’t think she would. What do you think?’

‘I could literally not care less about whether Elia Martell comes to renaissance week if I genuinely tried,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘My brother’s coming, that’s what’s got me excited.’

‘I really want to see her children,’ Ashara says. Maybe that’s why this friendship works; Lyanna doesn’t care and Ashara doesn’t care that Lyanna doesn’t care. ‘I can just imagine Rhaegar’s hair and Elia’s skin tone, gosh, I just love kids, you know? They’re so lovable.’

‘They’re really not,’ Lyanna muses. She can see Rhaegar’s hair in the lamplight last night. ‘Unless they’re like your own or something.’    

‘Well, duh,’ Ashara says. ‘You and Robert would have cute kids though, I mean, your eyes and his -’

Lyanna dials Jaime and fakes getting a call. ‘Whoa, gotta take that. Bff emergency. Hi, Jaime, what’s up? What? Calm down, calm down, I can’t understand you.’

She’s talking to the dial tone when he picks up. ‘Hey, Lya, what -’

‘Don’t you worry, you’re not alone here,’ she tells the phone, making placating gestures at Ashara. ‘I’ll be right there.’

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Let me guess, Ashara or Catelyn? You really should try with them Lyanna.’

‘It’s okay, Jaime, I’m right here. I’m with you, calm down,’ Lyanna ignores him and makes calming gestures at Ashara. She puts the phone against her chest and whispers, ‘He’s having a panic attack, I gotta go, you understand right?’

Ashara has barely nodded before Lyanna hangs up and takes off.

.

‘Fuck’s sake man,’ Lyanna says, lounging in Jaime’s common room. ‘Damn Ashara talking about my damn non-existent babies with Robert.’

‘Ew,’ Jaime says. ‘Seriously, ew.’

‘Ashara’s fucking hot, man,’ Domeric calls out. ‘But yeah, ew on the other thing.’

‘What the fuck is happening with my life,’ Lyanna says. She notices another pair of boxers on the floor. ‘Okay, seriously, what the fuck is up with people and just leaving their underwear on the floor?’

‘Are you seriously judging? You leave your damn knickers on your floor too,’ Jaime seems offended by a greater degree than he should be.

 ‘I don’t share a suite with someone, and I leave like, one lying around. There’s like five of them here,’ Lyanna defends herself. She points at one near the sofa side. ‘Also, why does that one have Dora the explorer on it?’

Domeric’s hand shoots out and snags it, and the man disappears back into his room. ‘Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.’

‘Ew,’ Lyanna and Jaime say together.

‘God, I need to get laid,’ Lyanna says. ‘It’s been two weeks.’

‘Wait, what?’ Jaime asks. ‘As disgusting as I find the concept of you copulating with _Robert Baratheon_ of all people -’

‘ _Copulating?_ ’ Lyanna makes a face.

‘- I find it pretty unbelievable that the man hasn’t been pissy about no action.’ Jaime finishes, unapologetic.

Lyanna sighs. This is an awful conversation. She should leave. She needs more friends. ‘Dude, I know? Okay? I mean, the first few months were insane, I mean, we were going at it every night -’

‘Ew,’ Jaime shudders. ‘Gross, Lya.’

‘Shut up and listen, would you? You’re the one who started it,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Lately we’re both busy, and he drinks a lot more than I do, and by the time we’re both done with shit, I’m half asleep and he’s too drunk to do anything. So. We just. Slept the last time we were in bed together.’

‘You just. Slept together,’ Jaime echoes. He looks very confused. ‘You guys just slept together.’

‘Ew,’ Domeric calls out.

‘Oh my fucking God,’ Lyanna yells. ‘It’s fine. It’s just. Been a while.’

‘Why are you in the 20-year marriage stage with him, Lya?’ Jaime asks.

‘Fuck if I know,’ she replies. ‘Can we talk about something else, please? Like my amazing fucking dance last night?’

‘I know I said this before,’ Domeric calls out. ‘But you looked fucking hot, Lyanna.’

‘You’re a right blessing, baby,’ Lyanna yells back, sticking her tongue out to Jaime mouthing ‘ew’.

Jaime grouses, but still speaks as Domeric slams the door as he leaves. ‘You…you were good. You’re a good dancer.’

‘Holy fuck, you can’t give me a compliment, can you?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘You literally look like someone’s sucking your soul out.’

‘You’re a good dancer, you know that, Jesus,’ Jaime says, and he looks so uncomfortable, Lyanna actually feels a little bit bad.

‘Fine, fine,’ Lyanna says. ‘Also, next time we go to a party? You need to remind me to bring a jacket, because holy fuck, I would have frozen to death walking home last night.’

‘Oh, yeah, why’d you leave early? You should have told me, I would’ve ditched and walked with you,’ Jaime says, kicking an errant pair of underwear to the side.

Lyanna feels an odd burst of affection for the way he says he would ditch things for her so matter-of-factly. Oh, God, she’s feeling mushy. She’d going to get her period soon. ‘Nah. Rhaegar walked me home.’

Jaime trips a little on the other boxer shorts. They have hearts on them. ‘Wait, Rhaegar? As in Rhaegar Targaryen, our TA?’

‘Didn’t know there was another Rhaegar, but thanks for telling me,’ Lyanna says. She’s pretty at peace with how she’s handled her feelings on the whole matter. She’s friends with Rhaegar, and that’s that.

‘Huh. That must have been boring, I bet he didn’t say a fucking word,’ Jaime says, then smirks. ‘Better be careful, Lya, you danced with one Targaryen, and walked home with another. People will say you’ve got an eye out for dragons.’

‘Yes, I’m eyeing for the attention of a misanthropic introvert and his married brother,’ Lyanna deadpans. ‘Simultaneously.’

‘He didn’t look too misanthropic or introverted when you had your thighs around his neck -’

‘Oh my God, why are people so obsessed with that? I’ve literally done the same thing with Brandon,’ Lyanna says. She really hasn’t done that with Brandon. But she would, is the point. Maybe. Okay, so no, but no one needs to know that.

‘It was _scandalous,_ Lady Lyanna,’ Jaime cajoles, and Lyanna fights the urge to laugh. ‘So scandalous that for a moment there I thought my heart would stop.’

‘Tis a pity it didn’t then, isn’t it, Ser Jaime?’ Lyanna laughs as he whacks her arm. He looks at her for split second where his face is completely unreadable to her, and then coughs, moves towards the pile of laundry on the floor.

He’s shuffled into his bedroom to do something when she says, ‘I feel like you aren’t saying something. Spit it out.’

‘Who, me? Nah.’ He calls out.

The thing about Jaime is, he’s a great liar for everyone who doesn’t know him. Lyanna knows him pretty well. ‘Oh, don’t be a coward, Jaime.’

‘I’m just saying,’ his voice is clear and then suddenly goes muffled. It sounds something like, ‘You didn’t dance with me.’

‘What?’ Lyanna yells.

‘Nothing,’ His voice is clear.

‘Excuse me?’ Lyanna asks; she’s standing now.

‘I said nothing!’ Jaime yells back.

‘You were the one who practically deserted me, mister,’ she says, marching into his room. She steadfastly ignores the tendril of affection that creeps in at the sight of that one New Year’s picture of theirs he’s framed near his dressing. ‘You left me with Ashara and Catelyn, of all people! You literally held my hand as we walked in and then disappeared -’

She’s poking him in the chest because he doesn’t like that. ‘Lyanna, okay, I’m sorry, for fuck’s sake stop it, your fingers are really boney, Jesus Christ, ow.’

‘Fuck you, Mr. You-could-have-danced-with-me,’ Lyanna says. ‘Maybe don’t fucking abandon my ass next time and I will dance with you, you narcissistic piece of garbage non-recyclable trash.’

‘Non-recyclable? Ouch,’ Jaime says, but he’s smiling, and she’s stopped poking him in the chest. ‘You’re right. Your ass is too hot to abandon. I’ve made the singular, most awful and regretful mistake of my life.’

‘Wow, you’re never getting a dance,’ Lyanna tells him. She’s not in her heels right now and she hates the fact that she has to look up at him. Why is he so tall? Why are some men so tall?

‘I’m a moody dick,’ he says, the way you’d say _I’m sorry_. The way she’d said, _I’m a crazy bitch._ ‘Thought you were into that.’

He’s raising his eyebrows in such a ludicrous manner; Lyanna can’t help but burst out laughing.

‘Moody dick,’ she muses, pulling him out of the room for ice cream. ‘That would make a great Tinder profile line.’

‘Tell me the fuck about it,’ Jaime replies. ‘Probably eat so much pussy, I’ll be shitting clit, son.’

Lyanna freezes and looks at him. ‘Wha-’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaime says. He looks so guilty.

‘What the actual -’

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, cringing.

‘You sound like -’

‘Don’t say it, Lyanna, I’m sorry -’

‘You sound like _Robert -_ ’

‘Oh my GOD, Lya, I said I was sorry, okay, I’ve just been watching a lot of _Veep_ , and -’

‘Dude,’ Lyanna says. ‘I am never letting this go. That was so bad. That was so bad your father would take you back and then disown you again.’

‘Woah,’ Jaime says, but they’re walking again. ‘Way harsh.’

‘ _Probably eat so much pussy -_ ’

‘Never mind!’

.

There’s four days to renaissance week when there’s a knock on her door.

‘Jaime, I’m busy trying to shove this dress on, fuck off for like, ten minutes,’ Lyanna calls out.

The knocking starts again. ‘Okay, whoever you are,’ she says, angling her hand behind her back and feeling awfully single for some reason. ‘You gotta go away for ten minutes man, I’m really struggling here.’

The knocking stops, and then starts again. Lyanna pulls the zipper up so hard she thinks it almost broke and stomps to the door.

‘Oh, whoever you are, you are in for a world of fucking hurt,’ she’s fuming as she opens the door.

And there he is. Her eldest brother, in the flesh. She wants to hug him, and kiss him, and slap him in equal measures.

‘Hey, Lyanna,’ he says, that same grin, that same hair that he styles back with gross hair product even though she’s told him it’s annoying to touch it and makes him look like a douche. She’s missed him so fucking much.

‘Brandon, you piece of shit,’ she says, unapologetic, but then she throws her arms around his neck and knows his arms will come around her waist before she even feels them because of how many times they’ve done this. He picks her up and spins her, and it’s so reminiscent of when they shared a house, and when she used to live five minutes away from his dorm in the graduate block; of how he’d hug her and spin her the same way when she was both eight and eighteen.

‘I missed you too, darling,’ he says, and Lyanna has never missed anyone this much.

‘You should have visited more often,’ she says. ‘God, I. I was so _alone,_ Brandon, I never knew I could be this alone until you were just _gone._ ’

She feels absolutely disgusting; she can feel her throat choking up like the absolute betrayer that it is, and her hands feel like they’re about to shake, like there’s something they need to touch but they just can’t find, or that they’re not allowed to. She wouldn’t freak out like this, she really wouldn’t – except in the past six months of sophomore year, Lyanna’s lost the only support pillar she had at home, the one person she could always count on to take bat for her. Brandon has always been there, the only person who ever understood her need for adventure, her sense of exhilaration – the brother who distracted his father when he was angry at her for something or the other, who had always just laughed at the shit she pulled, and helped her when she needed it. And now he was off with his own life, doing his own thing, and when Rickard had video called her two weeks ago and asked for an update on her ‘courtship’ with Robert, there’d been no one to tell him to lay off it. There’d been no one for Lyanna to call up at 3 am on the nights she couldn’t sleep, and no one who would actually make the five minute walk to her dorm in the snow just to lie next to her and talk until she fell asleep.

Brandon has always been able to see through her, and know what’s bothering her. ‘I know. I’m sorry, Lya. I really am. I’m a shit terrible brother, but I’ll do right by you. I swear that.’

Lyanna swallows. ‘God, come in. We’re literally in my doorway like a bunch of idiots.’

He lets her go, but still keeps an arm around her, and for some stupid reason this makes her want to bawl her eyes out. ‘Lya, love, you gotta clean your dorm.’

That makes her laugh, and from his smile, that was what he’d been trying to do. ‘Fuck you.’

‘That would be incestuous, Lya,’ Brandon says, laughing at his little joke, but all it makes Lyanna do is cringe because _Oh, God, Jaime._ If only Brandon knew how well she has experience with that particular landmine.

‘Oh, don’t get offended, it’s just a joke,’ he says, oblivious, thankfully. ‘You and me and the king and queen of inappropriate jokes, remember?’

‘I still believe some of those jokes were worthy of getting banned from the dinner table for,’ Lyanna tells him.

‘Of course they were,’ he says. ‘So, then, tell me how my little sister has been. Heard you were dating someone.’

_Oh, God._ ‘It’s, uh, Robert. Baratheon. You know, Ned’s old friend,’ Lyanna says, trying to busy herself with cleaning. She’s so glad she’d kicked her knickers under her bed. There are _lines._

‘Ew,’ Brandon says. ‘Is it a quick fuck? A sophomore year fling? I did ten of those. Please tell me it’s temporary.’

_Well, it was certainly meant to be._ ‘Um, well, it’s…yeah, kind of, but not really, but like. Exactly that, so, no,’ Lyanna says.

‘That made no sense,’ Brandon says. ‘On purpose. Oh, god, it’s not temporary. Lyanna, _why?_ I mean, I get that he’s hot-’

‘Ew,’ Lyanna says, on reflex.

‘He’s your boyfriend?!’ Brandon says. ‘What do you mean ew?’

‘Dude, I don’t want to hear my brother call my boyfriend hot,’ Lyanna tells him.

Brandon grouses, and puts his feet on her coffee table. ‘Don’t try to change the subject here, I know you too well for that. Seriously, you can’t be happy.’

‘Maybe I am, huh? Did anyone ever think of that? Maybe I do like him, and even love him. Maybe I want to marry him, and…this isn’t working, is it?’ Lyanna asks, shoulders drooping.

‘Not even a little,’ Brandon says. ‘Is it one of those charity things?’

‘No, Brandon, it is not one of those charity things,’ Lyanna says. For all that she doesn’t particularly love Robert, she doesn’t not like him, really, and she is dating him, so she feels the need to defend him a little bit. ‘I got into the relationship pretty willingly.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know!’ Lyanna explodes. She’s not exactly proud of it. ‘I’m just, really sick of people asking me that. Mainly because I don’t know the answer. It was. It was good initially, you know? He made me laugh. We went drinking. The sex was good. He didn’t try to stop me from doing shit, and he wasn’t like the other posh sociopathic people here, so I thought why the fuck not. It’s still the same, except now we just fight about things that we know won’t change, and we rarely sleep together. But I think that’s because the two weeks before renaissance, all the bars have a buy one get one free thing, so.’

‘Oh my god, you’re settling,’ Brandon accuses, squinting. ‘Is it dad?’

‘I am not, and no, it’s not about dad,’ Lyanna says. She totally is. And it really is about dad.

‘Why couldn’t you settle for that Lannister guy? I’d hate him for his family, but I heard he got disowned, so he’s got my stamp of approval. Why not him?’

_Cause he’s in love with his sister and trying to get over it._ ‘Jaime and I are just best friends.’

‘Yeah, but did you try sleeping with him?’ Brandon says. At her questioning look, he explains. ‘It worked in the Mila Kunis/Justin Timberlake film.’

Lyanna shakes her head. ‘No, Brandon. That’s not the film I measure my life to.’

‘So you measure it to the exorcist? Because I’m telling you, the idea of you dating Robert is far more terrifying,’ he says.

‘I won’t be letting you sleep on my couch for a few days if that’s the way you’re going to be about it,’ Lyanna tells him, even though she secretly thinks that was a great comeback.

‘Who says I’m going to ask you to let me sleep on your couch for a few days?’ Brandon challenges.

‘Sure, have fun sleeping while Renly fucks Loras in Arthur’s spare bedroom,’ Lyanna tells him.

Brandon full-body cringes. ‘Can I sleep on your couch for a few days when that’s happening, please?’

Lyanna smiles at him. ‘Of course, just try not to piss me off.’

‘That dress is really nice, by the way,’ Brandon says, and then laughs. ‘Ooh, this means I can punch out guys who try to flirt with my sister.’

‘Okay, Brandon, firstly, I don’t need you to punch guys out for me, I can do that myself,’ Lyanna says. ‘And secondly, no one really flirts with me with any real intention, so I don’t think you need to worry about them going through with anything.’

‘They’re all scared of you, aren’t they?’ Brandon asks.

‘Yep,’ Lyanna says, slightly down. It was fun being the scary girl up until every guy bro-zoned her and she ended up _settling for Robert Baratheon, for fuck’s sake._

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Brandon says, and Lyanna shushes him.

‘Don’t even start. I have class now, so I’m going to leave you alone. I come back in three hours; if you want to sleep, you can take the bed while I’m gone, and I’ll give you my spare key,’ she tells him.

‘I love you, Lya,’ Brandon smiles at her, fluttering his annoyingly long eyelashes that she’s still jealous about. She rolls her eyes, throws him the key and leaves.

.

Medieval Arts finds Drogo sick again, so Rhaegar’s taken over. Lyanna doesn’t find the idea of it too annoying or distracting, and goes through class absolutely fine, poking Jaime in the ribs with her elbow and grumbling at him for never bringing a pencil. 

They all have that assignment to submit though, the one from last week on medieval cults that Lyanna literally spent a whole lot of effort on, and actually prioritized over her Law Theory homework, so she doesn’t mind handing it in the way others are.

‘Dude, Brandon’s here,’ Lyanna tells Jaime as she takes her folder out.

‘Your brother? That should be fun,’ Jaime says. ‘Will he do the melee this year?’

‘Nah, I don’t think so. He’s too hot tempered for it, he claims, but I think it’s because he’s too out of practice and won’t risk it unless he can win,’ she says. They’re being pretty slow, most of the class has already handed theirs in, others lining up to make excuses.  ‘He’ll probably joust though.’

‘Hmm, maybe I should joust -’

‘Absolutely not. You and I still have our fight to practice for, and the melee apart from that. Next thing we know you won’t be able to do either because you fell of your horse too hard,’ Lyanna tells him.

As they walk down to the desk, Lyanna notices that everyone’s left, Rhaegar’s right there, not saying anything, just kind of sitting and starting to correct the assignments.

‘Hi,’ Lyanna says to him. He doesn’t look like the guy who walked her home, which is to be expected, but still doesn’t sit too well with her.

Rhaegar looks up after an awkward moment or two and smiles, just a little, and then shakes his head. ‘Hi.’

There’s silence, when Jaime says, ‘Hi.’

Lyanna side eyes him in judgment, when Rhaegar says, ‘Is that for me?’

‘What?’ Lyanna asks, reverie lost. This feels so weird for some reason, and it’s creeping her out.

Rhaegar’s eyes drop to her hand that’s holding her assignment. ‘That. Your paper?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Lyanna says, and then because she hates awkward moments: ‘Yeah, really beautiful assignment Drogo gave us. I found a cult that used goats as sacrifice and then moved on to cannibalism because they ran out of goats.’

Rhaegar stares at her. Lyanna stares back, until he snorts, and says, ‘ _Really?_ ’

‘Of course not, I did it on a boring religious one that may have connections to Protestantism,’ Lyanna tells him, but by then Rhaegar is smiling widely, and she thinks, _mission achieved._

‘Well, that’s a pity,’ he says, taking her paper and Jaime’s. ‘I would have actually liked to read about a cult like that.’

Lyanna shrugs her bag up higher on her shoulder. ‘You and me both.’

‘Have you read One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest?’ Rhaegar asks.

‘Of course,’ Lyanna says, quoting it. _‘I tried, didn’t I? At least I did that._ Anyways, why?’

Rhaegar just shakes his head, but he’s smiling, and it’s making Lyanna smile. ‘No reason. Just curious.’

‘Well, you know the saying,’ Jaime cuts in, and wow, did Lyanna actually forget he was there for a second? Ouch. ‘Hope you like mine and its four thousand words of absolutely inane critique on the cult equivalent of a divorced women’s book club.’

‘How invigorating,’ Rhaegar says, with complete seriousness, until Lyanna laughs, and his features soften to match the mirth in his eyes that she’s starting to recognize now.

‘Well, hope you enjoy the next three days,’ Lyanna tells him, starting to walk away. She wants to talk more, about literature. Maybe ask him what kind of music he likes. ‘After that, it’s a whole week of bourgeois bullshit and pretentious preening-’

‘She’s breaking out the alliteration,’ Jaime says, steering her out. ‘Gotta get back up for that. Once she starts up on renaissance week and how terrible it is, she doesn’t really stop.’

Rhaegar doesn’t look like he’d mind listening, but he calls out, ‘Bye Lyanna. Bye Jaime’, as they leave.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Jaime asks her when they’re outside. ‘Seriously, the fuck was that?’

‘What?’ Lyanna asks.

‘The whole ‘ooh have you read it’ and ‘ooh just curious’?’ Jaime says in the most awful imitation ever.

Lyanna gives him an unimpressed look. ‘He and I share a love for literature, that’s literally all we talked about when he walked me home.’

‘Lyanna that is so creepy,’ Jaime says. He actually looks pretty judgmental.

‘Well, forgive me for looking forward to taking to someone whose major interest is not hitting sticks against other sticks,’ Lyanna tells him, pointedly, and he gasps.

‘Oh my fucking God, Lya,’ Jaime tells her. ‘I’m offended.’

‘Then be offended, you judgmental piece of shit,’ Lyanna tells him, but she’s also dragging him with her by the arm.

.

Brandon’s gone by the time Lyanna gets back to her dorm, but she doesn’t exactly mind because she has a political science pop quiz the day after and she plans on spending it all in the library. She sends an errant text to Daenarys, telling her where she’ll be hiding in the library, and to smuggle in some pop tarts if she’s coming.

Robert’s texted her, a small, _look forward to seeing u soon have an exam friday but RW you’ve got me,_ and she feels both slightly fuzzy and slightly annoyed when she sees it. It’s a sweet message, though, and it does make her smile, and she deigns to text back a small, _same poli sci exam then too, won’t respond till then._

‘Have you ever been in love, Lya?’ Brandon asks, suddenly behind her, and Lyanna screams.

‘What the fuck, Brandon? Seriously?’ she asks, hand on her chest.

‘Have you?’ he asks, oddly insistent.

Lyanna’s is confused. ‘No, not really.’

‘How about love at first sight?’ he asks.

‘No, unless you count that antique dagger I saw in the shops once when I was twelve that dad didn’t let me buy,’ Lyanna says, still salty. ‘My childhood love, forever unconsummated.’

‘…Anyways,’ Brandon says, ‘I saw the most gorgeous woman.’

‘You’ve literally been here for like two hours,’ Lyanna tells him, packing her bag up. ‘I’m sure you’ll see another gorgeous woman in another two.’

‘No, but Lya, she was beautiful, she was amazing,’ Brandon says, and Lyanna wonders why exactly she missed her older brother when this is all he used to do most of the time.

‘Whatever she was, you better not bring her here,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘I will know, Brandon. Go to her dorm, or whatever. Seriously.’

‘Trust me I am not interested in having sex with someone on my baby sister’s dorm sheets,’ he says. ‘Plus, you probably haven’t washed them in a month, I know you.’

‘Fuck you,’ Lyanna throws back. ‘It’s been two weeks and four days. I just haven’t had time.’

‘You don’t even wash them, I’ll bet,’ Brandon laughs. ‘You throw them away after a month.’

‘Fuck you, I’ll be in the library,’ Lyanna tells him.

He snorts. ‘Oh hey, thought I should let you know. The Stark clan will be coming in the last few days of the fair.’

Well, fuck it all to hell. She can gladly witness her father’s judgment, Ned’s approval of Robert, and Benjen’s guilt-inducing face. She grabs her coat, her books and her bag of snacks she’s been hoarding for study day and promptly leaves.

.

The rest of her day is spent being unreasonably pissed at her family and trying to study. She doesn’t really mind Benjen; in fact, she loves her kid brother more than anyone in the family, and is fiercely protective of him to the point where she would genuinely kill anyone who even breathed on him. But Rickard’s hatred of her riding and fencing has been well-announced since she first signed up for Brandon’s classes, and hasn’t quite dissipated. Lyanna’s just a bit disappointed about how she’s the only one asked about marriage plans, and how many children she wants to have, and what she’s going to fucking name them – while her three brothers get off scot free.

So maybe she’s not being really silent about it, because the guy next to her asks, ‘You okay? You’re kind of growling under your breath.’

‘I’m fine,’ Lyanna says, and then the Librarian hisses at them. Lyanna’s back is starting to hurt from her sitting position, and it is starting to get late, so Lyanna decides to go back to the position she’d laid claim to all of last year: the upper floor’s corner hall, where she has the privacy to splay her legs open, lean against a wall and just _focus._ It’s also nicely located between  a wall and the bookshelf that contains 13th century history books that no one has ever come to read in all the times during freshman year that Lyanna’s camped out here, so she’s likely to be undisturbed here. She shuts her phone off by the time 10 pm rolls around, checks her snacks and realizes she has enough to last her the night, and as some sections of the library darken out, her little corner stays illuminated. People start to leave by the time twelve rolls around, and by one am Lyanna’s gotten a lot of studying done. If she keeps this up for the next hour or so, she can easily catch some sleep and finish up her studying by tomorrow noon. 

Except by the time 2 am rolls around, Lyanna feels like napping is the best thing invented. She’s just decided to settle in for a nap and is placing an alarm on her phone, trying to find the head phones she knows she brought with her, when she hears a scuffing sound. She looks around, but there’s no one there near her aisle, and the library is practically deserted anyways; the only person she knows who is usually still here is the night shift librarian, who is probably out smoking a joint. God, Lyanna misses freshman year. But then again, she might just be murdered in a damn college library at this point, so maybe all that healthy lifestyle shit really was a bad decision.

She hears another scuffing sound, near the end of the bookshelf to her side and silently picks up her Analytical Graphs for Political Science Volume Two Reference book and gets ready to chuck it. She briefly wonders if she might just be overreacting, that it could be anyone, but she also feels like a rabid raccoon who is exhausted and isn’t getting to take her nap, so she just gets ready to chuck the huge book on whoever tries to kill her.

The scuffing gets closer, and she can hear the guy breathing, and she leans back to get a proper angle, and as soon as he emerges Lyanna throws the book at the stranger.

‘What the fu-’

Except it’s not a stranger. It’s Rhaegar Targaryen, who has great reflexes, because he moved in the split second and the book ended up hitting his shoulder, not his pretty, pretty face. Lyanna thinks she’d feel more mortified if she was less sleepy, but she’s feeling pretty damn mortified as it is. The book has made this huge thumping sound as it’s fallen to the ground, and for a minute Lyanna expects the librarian to yell at her.

‘Do you throw things at everybody, or just me?’ Rhaegar asks, rubbing his shoulder. He’s huffing, but he doesn’t look quite as annoyed with the situation as he should. He bends down and picks up her book, scans the title.

Lyanna shrugs, trying to seem like she doesn’t feel bad. Why does she feel bad? She thought he was murderer, but saying that would make it sound absolutely obnoxious. ‘Not everybody, just the ones who sneak up on me. Which is you, to be honest.’

‘My shoulder and I feel very special,’ Rhaegar tells her, approaching her with the book held out in one hand.

‘Yeah,’ Lyanna says. ‘Sorry about that. Really.’

He shrugs, then winces.  He looks as exhausted as she feels; that pale skin easily dark under his eyes. Damn guy still looks pretty. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Good reflexes, though,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘First the martini glass, now my PoliSci Volume Two book. Crazy flex, man.’

At Rhaegar’s confused look, she realizes she just used her weird vocabulary, and feels the embarrassing urge to blush. ‘Never mind, its slang.’

Rhaegar squints, turns around. She wonders what she looks like to him, and then wants to judge herself. She would, but she’s in that sleepy, too tired phase that’s like being drunk – she doesn’t give a single fuck about what she’d do if she wasn’t so tired.

He’s looking through the sections on the shelf, like he’s there for a reason. Lyanna realizes that she still hasn’t inquired into why he’s here. As if he can read her question, or maybe the silence is too loud, he answers of his own volition. ‘Thesis time. I, uh, hit a rough patch. This place usually has something that catches my eye.’

‘I didn’t see you here last year,’ Lyanna blurts out, before realizing how sad that makes her sound.

Rhaegar smiles, she can see the corner of his mouth. He turns towards her slightly, eyes full of laughter that she’s only now beginning to realize. ‘You come here often then?’

Lyanna swears to herself that she will not feel anything. For God’s sake, she’s splayed in the corner with her hair held together by a sharpie and another pen; if she can get over someone seeing her like that, that question is nothing. ‘You kidding me? Freshman year, this place was my habitat. Especially during finals.’

Rhaegar’s smile grows. He looks exhausted, she thinks, grabbing an errant book from the first shelf, and then the bottom. Lyanna tells herself to not look at his ass, but then promptly does, and has no regrets. YOLO, she thinks, and then: God, I need to sleep. And get laid.

‘I’m sorry, what?’ Rhaegar says, turning around with his books in his hand.

Oh, God. She said it out loud. She tries to pretend like she meant to. ‘I know, TMI, sorry. I start over sharing when I’m this tired.’ She adds a sheepish smile just to really hammer in the whole ‘haha-this-was-so-planned.’

Rhaegar looks sympathetic. ‘I know what you mean. Although I’d have a better chance of sleeping here, rather than at home.’

Lyanna doesn’t want to even poke that with a stick, but curiosity gets the best of her. ‘Kids, huh?’

‘Good thing you don’t have any,’ Rhaegar says, then gives a quick laugh. ‘I sound terrible, huh? People love being fathers, and then there’s me. Spending most of my nights in the library because I miss the _quiet_.’

So this is not where Lyanna expected her night to go. ‘Not really. I practically had to raise my younger brother, and then I was basically the mom for everyone ever since my actual mom died. So yeah, peace is a rarity I’m not ashamed to enjoy.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Rhaegar says, turning around to face her fully.

She has to look up at him, and squint at the light bulb because he’s so tall. Why the fuck is he so tall? Unfair. ‘Meh,’ she says, trying to lighten him up. He literally looks so sad, it’s creeping her out. ‘Thank you. I got over it though, I mean, it has been a while.’

He still looks so sad, and exhausted, and although he claims he came here for solitude, she knows he came here for silence, not being alone. She knows that feeling.

‘Why don’t you sit down,’ she says. ‘As an apology, one of these sub-par milkshakes has your name on it.’

He blinks at her, and then breaks out into a snort. But he’s smiling again. ‘Thought you came here to be in peace.’

‘Yeah, you’re not exactly the biggest party-rebel,’ Lyanna says, fishing out the banana shake bottle and waving it at him. ‘Come on, everyone loves this room-temperature subpar milkshake. Especially with the added bonus of my company.’

For a second, she thinks he’s going to say no, but then he come over to sit down in front of her, back against the bookshelf, legs splayed out. In front of him the way hers are. It’s so surreal, she can’t help but laugh.

‘What?’ Rhaegar asks, eyes narrowing. He looks like he did when she laughed at his harp. Lyanna laughs a little more.

‘Nothing, God, it’s just. You’re in a suit, and you’re sitting on the floor with someone who’s wearing sweat pants and a t shirt.’

Rhaegar smiles. ‘And that’s so shocking, why?’

‘People haven’t seen you act, well, chill, exactly,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘You’re kind of like that whole serious brooding person, you know? Think blonde Stefan Salvatore.’

‘Who?’ Rhaegar asks.

‘Never mind, just some character,’ Lyanna brushes that away. ‘But like, they wouldn’t expect you to be just sitting on the floor in some public library, with three books and someone who looks half rabid.’

‘I wouldn’t sit on the floor in some public library with anyone else,’ Rhaegar tells her, smirking. He looks so different like this. ‘Just this half rabid person you speak off.’

Lyanna throws a hand on her heart. ‘Stop, Ser, you flatter me so. I know it is only for the milkshake that you speak such flowery words’

They smile at each other, when Rhaegar takes the bottle from her, opens it and takes a large gulp so uncharacteristic, she wonders how tired he must be. ‘God, it’s been so long since I’ve had one of these.’

‘You used to drink these?’ Lyanna asks. Man, this guy has some layers.

Rhaegar shrugs, drinking again. ‘Oh yeah, all the time. Whenever my father couldn’t see, back in high school. I don’t know why I loved this so much, but I did.’

‘You want me to leave you two alone?’ Lyanna asks, all in good humor. ‘No witnesses to upper-class Rhaegar Targaryen drinking a fifty cent shake.’

‘God, it’s actually been so long since I’ve just been able to relax like this,’ Rhaegar says again. He’s staring straight ahead. ‘Elia’s got us all on this health kick, all we’ve been having is salad. I literally look forward to eating breakfast in the cafeteria.’

‘Oh, god, I’m judging you,’ Lyanna says, but then fishes again in her bag and pulls out a bag of chips. The super oily, super cheap kind that have no logo on them. ‘If you’re familiar with those terrible shakes, you might just remember these coronary inducing besties.’

Rhaegar looks at the chips and then at her. ‘Holy shit.’

‘Wow, you’re like an onion, man,’ Lyanna tells him. This is all so surreal. ‘I’ve never heard you curse.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life,’ Rhaegar tells her, and she laughs at how serious he looks, throws him the bag.

‘Onion,’ Lyanna tells him, and herself, and the library that’s empty. ‘Layers.’

‘Lya, shut the fuck up!’ The librarian yells from below somewhere.

Lyanna giggles. ‘Guess he’s back from his pot break.’

‘God, I miss pot,’ Rhaegar says, and Lyanna stares into him.

‘What?’ he says, suddenly defensive but still enthusiastically tearing into the bag of chips. He puts a single on in his mouth, elegantly, before shoving in two more. ‘I have _layers._ ’

Lyanna can’t help but start laughing, although she’s keeping it down so she’s basically just snorting and giggling and whispering, and he’s looking at her and laughing as well.

 Rhaegar says, after they’ve calmed down: ‘I haven’t been so relaxed in so long.’

‘You’re wearing dress pants and suspenders,’ Lyanna deadpans. ‘That’s not what anyone would call relaxed. Do you even own something comfy?’

‘I have silk pajamas,’ Rhaegar tells her, like he doesn’t believe himself.

‘Dude, you’re telling me you don’t have a ratty-ass T-shirt whose primetime was seven years ago, and a pair of shorts that is literally falling apart at the seams?’ Lyanna asks him.

‘I’m not saying I do, but I’m not saying I didn’t have them either,’ Rhaegar tells her. Then he looks pensive, almost sad. ‘Do you ever end up in a place in your life where you never expected to be? Where things are fine, they’re not bad or anything, they’re just…’

‘Fine,’ Lyanna finishes. Oh, god. ‘Tell me about it. I’m in one of the saddest relationships ever. All we do is argue, and fight and ignore each other and complain. But it’s not bad, you know? Like it’s okay. It’s. _Fine._ ’

He responds to her errant smile, as small as it is. ‘You should study. And so should I.’

Lyanna thumps her head against the wall. ‘Yes. Yes, we should.’ She gives a small laugh. ‘I like how a few days ago, we were talking about literature and debating about human nature -’

‘And today we can barely string together sentences and sound tipsy?’ Rhaegar finishes.

‘Something like that,’ Lyanna says. ‘I didn’t expect this level of, I don’t know. Never mind.’

‘Informality?’ Rhaegar asks. ‘I think it’s nice. It’s been a while since I’ve been…informal with someone. There’s always this persona you need to wear in the world.’

‘Yes, your non-smiling, broody persona, I know,’ Lyanna tells him, settling into study position. There goes her nap time, but she doesn’t exactly mind.

Rhaegar’s doing the same. ‘Hey, that’s not true. I smile at you.’

Lyanna looks up and blinks at him. He’s probably exceptionally tired, because he doesn’t seem to acknowledge how gay that sounds. ‘Dude, that sounds so gay,’ Lyanna tells him, because she sucks.

Rhaegar blinks, and then laughs. ‘See? You’re an extremely funny person. Had I known your company would be so therapeutic, I would have stopped by your library corner whenever I saw you.’

‘What do you mean, whenever you saw me?’ Lyanna asks him.

His eyes widen, and he says, ‘Well, in terms of, had I been aware of your presence in this portion of the library-’

‘You’re lying to me,’ Lyanna says, squinting. ‘You’re lying to me after I gave you the food equivalent of immediate heart disease, I can’t believe this.’

‘Oh my god, fine,’ Rhaegar says. ‘I saw you here last year, like twice. You were sleeping.’

Then he starts going red, because maybe he’s realized what exactly that sounds like.

‘Dude, _that’s_ gay,’ she says. ‘You even blush nicely, my God. I mean, seriously, I’ve seen Jaime blush and he literally splotches all over. It’s adorable, but damn. Nice genes.’

Rhaegar’s cheeks are pink again, and it’s as if he realizes that he is a twenty eight year old PhD student, and not a teenager being teased, because he coughs and takes a sip of his shitty milkshake. ‘Yes, well, Edward Cullen references aside…’

‘You’ve read that?’ Lyanna says, disgusted and amazed at the same time. ‘The guy who reads F. Scott Fitzgerald has read _Twilight?_ ’

‘I was young, give me a break,’ Rhaegar says. ‘Don’t you have a test on Friday?’

Lyanna laughs, and pokes him in the arm. ‘Yep. This has been a fun conversation. A weird, surreal, fun conversation.’

‘Truly,’ Rhaegar says, opening the first book. ‘I’m glad you were awake.’

‘See you on the flip side,’ Lyanna says, looking at the graph in front of her.

It’s strange, studying while he’s in her general vicinity, and initially she’s extremely aware of his presence. There’s a reason Lyanna doesn’t study with Jaime or anyone else, and that’s because they’re likely to distract her with something, or she’ll have the need to talk. But over here, in the library, she can always be alone and do her thing. Except it can get overwhelming sometimes, spending the entire night awake, surrounded by the warm glow of the old yellow lighting and books for company. She’s not feeling distracted, but she isn’t lonely either right now. She’s aware of him being there, and she doesn’t mind it in the least.

After an hour and a half of studying, she pushes another bottle towards him. ‘Gotta keep that brain fed.’

He blinks at her, looking disoriented for a second. ‘I think I’m too old for this.’

‘Ha, isn’t that what all grad students say to themselves?’ Lyanna asks. This is nice. Taking a break with actual human interaction is nice. She shoves a small piece of brownie into her mouth, offers him a bite.

He shakes his head, holding the milk shake. ‘You’re a good study partner.’

‘You’re just saying that because I have snacks,’ Lyanna teases.

Rhaegar smiles, thumping the back of his head against the shelf. ‘That’s definitely a factor, but. You have a nice presence. Very supportive.’

‘ _Very supportive?_ ’ Lyanna snorts. ‘You’re terrible at compliments.’

‘I’m really not,’ Rhaegar says. Over here, he seems just like any other guy. ‘I’m just really tired right now. Otherwise you’d be amazed with how good I am with words.’

‘I feel like you’re going to judge yourself for sounding like an undergrad tomorrow,’ Lyanna says. ‘You’re being very…open.’

‘You’re an easy person to talk to. And relax with,’ Rhaegar says. ‘You have this non-judgmental aura that says you couldn’t care less why the other person is pretending, just that you don’t want them to. So thank you, because I feel like I can trust you enough to complain about my family, or even speak to you when I’m this tired and prone to over sharing. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to be so familiar and calm, and not think of every perfect and well formulated thing to say –’

Lyanna puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know. I’m amazing. But this actually is nice. I’d forgotten how creepy and lonely this place could be, and then you showed up, and now I don’t even mind the fact that I didn’t get to take a nap. And I’m glad you can be yourself with me. Personally, I find this Rhaegar a lot better than Stefan Salvatore copy Rhaegar. Frankly, I think you should do what you like, even though I totally understand that sometimes you have to pretend in front of people, but sometimes, you just have to tell the world: _you know what, bitch? I do what I want._ ’

Then she straightens. ‘I don’t know why I just gave you a pep up speech, sorry. One that didn’t really make sense.’

‘I got the gist, so, thank you,’ Rhaegar says. He’s smiling like he’s super glad to be here. ‘I still don’t know who Stefan Salvatore is.’

And that’s how Lyanna explains to him the plot of the vampire diaries. They briefly move on to Frankenstein’s monster, and then onto classical literature and the Bronte sisters, before concluding on a debate on what made Mr. Darcy so attractive in Pride and Prejudice.

‘Definitely his willingness to accept that he was wrong and change for Liz,’ Lyanna says, sad that they’re break is over.

‘Absolutely,’ Rhaegar says. ‘It’s sad how so many people characterize him for some sort of a bad-boy that Elizabeth falls in love with.’

‘People, am I right?’ Lyanna says, and starts reading.

They study until it’s almost dawn, and the sky starts to lighten across the windows. Rhaegar looks up when she finally shuts her book, and slumps against the wall.

‘How does the siege go?’ he asks. His voice is gravelly from disuse, and Lyanna thinks she’d find it hot if her libido wasn’t dead from exhaustion and analytical graph pictures.

‘We’ve surpasses their walls, and the city is ours,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘How fares the battle, good Ser?’

‘The battle is won, and lady luck is on our side,’ Rhaegar tells her, completely serious. He’s leaning back as well, eyes closed. He has a slight beard going, and Lyanna feels a strange urge to touch it.

‘God, I want food and then some sleep,’ Lyanna tells him, and herself, and the library. ‘And I need to get laid.’

‘I want all of those things too,’ Rhaegar says, eyes still closed. ‘We’re in the same sad little boat.’

‘Hey, this boat is not sad,’ Lyanna says. ‘In fact. This boat is going to go have the best, more greasiest breakfast ever.’

Rhaegar’s eyes open. ‘God, I want bacon.’

‘Fried bacon, and at least two donuts,’ Lyanna says. ‘What time is it? The café opens at 6.’

‘Five forty five,’ Rhaegar tells her, and starts putting his books into the shelf. ‘If we leave now, we’ll be there when it opens.’

Lyanna’s already packed her stuff. ‘Let’s go, I think I even know a shortcut.’

As they thud down the stairs, Lyanna comes to terms with her situation. Rhaegar’s still wearing the clothes he put on last night, a damn dress shirt and suspenders to boot; she spent the night in what used to be her corner studying with her TA, and actually did a damn good job of it. And now she’s going to get breakfast with him, like it’s the most normal thing to do.

‘I haven’t had bacon in so long,’ Rhaegar tells her, as the initial light of the sun starts filtering through the early morning.

‘Say what you will about this small, sad looking ship,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘We have great snacks, we have greasy breakfast and after this we’ve got our beds to look forward to. That’s two out of three.’

‘It’s a pretty great ship,’ he tells her, smiling. Maybe it’s the sudden morning, but Lyanna doesn’t feel bone dead tired, and neither does he. ‘You think they’ll have crepes? Blueberry ones?’

As the sun starts to ribbon through the bruised sky, Lyanna smiles. ‘Who knows, it’s a new day. Anything’s possible.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've always found it really unrealistic how Lyanna and Rhaegar just fall in love without speaking to each other (I mean, it's pretty implied that they shared letters even in the actual universe, and it's been a personal head cannon of mine) but my modern!Lya isn't exactly someone who'd just jump head first into anything without actually knowing the person, so that's why a certain amount of liberty is taken with how much these two interact. I see her as someone who values friendship the most in all key long-term relationships, so if anything, that's a prerequisite to any development.
> 
> And I've literally always headcannoned my modern!Rhaegar to be a total Stefan Salvatore type, but secretly someone who enjoys bumming about when no one's there to judge him. Also, I hope the whole library conversations makes sense, because it's pretty hard to make sense of a general conversation you have when you're pulling an all nighter with someone. You tend to be all over the place, and that's what I tried to do over here.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, and I'd love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter!


	4. i know that you want me, throw me into the sea

The café people look pissed to see two customers walking into their restaurant literally two seconds after they flip the open sign, but Lyanna and Rhaegar could care less. They’re here on a mission today.

‘How can I help you?’ the girl at the counter says, looking for the entire world like she wants to set them on fire.

‘I will have two friend eggs, sunny side up, with a side of hash browns and an extra side of bacon,’ Lyanna recites. ‘Don’t hold off on the grease, please.’

Rhaegar’s ready to order too. ‘I’ll have a blueberry crepe, two hazelnut pancakes, and that one cupcake there. Is that triple chocolate?’

The girl at the counter is a size zero, and she looks like she is severely judging them. ‘Yes, it is. Anything to drink?’

 _Fuck you,_ Lyanna thinks, vindictively, _if you had to fence, you’d need this much food too._ Yeah, she can just stick to her damn green tea or whatever the fuck size zero’s like to drink. Lyanna could snap her like a twig.

‘I’ll have an earl grey, strong, and a mocha frap,’ Lyanna says.

‘Oh hey, I love mocha frappachinos,’ Rhaegar tells her, smiling. He looks so exhausted. ‘I’ll have the same.’

As they go up to pay Lyanna sees him pull his black credit card out and puts a hand up. ‘Don’t even try to pay.’

‘What made you think I was?’ Rhaegar asks, all serious, except his hand is stuck in the middle there like a shifty piece of trash.

‘Oh, please, don’t even,’ Lyanna tells him, taking out her own. ‘We’ll split it.’

‘My mother would kill me if she knew I wasn’t insisting,’ Rhaegar tells her, looking like he wants to chuck her card out the door.

‘I’ll kill you if you insist,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘How your mother hasn’t shot herself living under the archaic standards of our patriarchy honestly defeats my mental fortitude -’

‘Okay, okay, we get it,’ the girl at the counter fumes. ‘Just gimme your damn cards, both of you.’

As they hand them over and head over to a table for two, Lyanna is once again hit by the realization that this is Rhaegar Targaryen. She giggles, then shakes her head at his questioning glance.

‘Nothing, this just seems really surreal,’ Lyanna says. The sun is slowly creeping up along the horizon, and because their table is right next to the window, she can see the clouds curdled against the sky. 

‘Tell me about it,’ Rhaegar says. He looks out of focus, blurred out and so much softer than he usually does with his sharp angles and stoic face. ‘It’s been extraordinarily long since I’ve done this, you know.’

‘Have breakfast at a café?’ Lyanna asks. Her attention span does not fare well under sleep deprivation.

‘That too, but. All the rest as well. Pull an all night- study session with someone whose company I can enjoy. Being able to just open up and talk about certain things, or even just admit things I haven’t been able to admit to myself,’ he says, sighing. They’re both looking out the window. ‘Those damn milkshakes I used to love so much.’

‘I mean, you do know you can still have them, right? Like, they’re super cheap, and practically available in every store around here…and I feel that’s not really the reason you don’t have them,’ Lyanna weaves off. ‘Look, it’s clear to me that you’re unhappy. And that’s okay.’

‘It’s okay to be unhappy?’ Rhaegar asks. ‘It’s Elia, actually. I know it’s because she cares, but lately she’s forced us to go on this brown rice micro-biotic diet, and you know when you don’t understand why you’re doing what you do, and you recognize your patterns but you can’t break them, and you don’t stand up for anything because you’re tired of conflict?’

‘Well, yes, but no, God, this is awful because I can barely make any sense,’ Lyanna says, taking a minute to process what she wants to say and rubbing her palms into her eyes. ‘Firstly, it’s not okay to be unhappy all the time. You can’t be happy all the time, is what I mean. It’s not possible. But being miserable, constantly, is one of the worse things to do to yourself. We’ve got such a short life, it just seems like a shame that we spend it all trying to make _everybody_ happy, instead of just focusing on ourselves and a select few. And sometimes, you know, maybe we should be selfish. Maybe you should just go have a milkshake after an exhausting day at work. Maybe you should be with someone who lets you have a fucking piece of chocolate if you want to have a fucking piece of chocolate.’

She’s gotten pretty impassioned with that speech. She coughs, awkward. ‘I’m just going to stop here before I go into discussing my life issues.’

Rhaegar’s smiling though, straight at her, no longer looking sideways to sky. Just at her. ‘Well, look at me, sitting in a café, ready to have enough sugar to give my family diabetes.’

Lyanna snorts. ‘Baby steps, darling.’

He laughs at that, short and surprised and loud enough to clearly hear him, like he hasn’t in a while. He doesn’t say anything, for a while.  Just as Lyanna’s planning on breaking out an inappropriate joke, he says, ‘Thank you, Lyanna.’

‘Hey, it was just some milkshakes,’ Lyanna tells him.

‘I mean,’ he says, sighing, but she knows.

‘I know what you mean,’ she smiles. ‘So you’re welcome for the milkshakes.’

He holds her eyes for a second; he looks extremely tired. ‘Okay.’

‘Oh, hey, are you going to be weird about this tomorrow? Or well, whenever we see each other next time?’ she asks him, just as their food arrives. The girl looks beyond upset at having to carry so much food to their table.

‘What do you mean weird about this?’ Rhaegar asks, staring at his blueberry crepe like it holds the answer to the universe.

Lyanna starts digging into her food. For some strange reason she remembers her friend’s advice to not eat like a pig in front of men, then promptly says fuck you to the patriarchal standards by which women are supposed to act, and shoves in two bites into her mouth. She reminds herself that not talking with your mouthful is just common decency and swallows before replying. ‘Well, you know. Obviously, you’re going to try to maintain that professional standard, although honestly, God knows why – Tyrion’s been sharing his flask with me since the day I met him, bless his soul – but I feel like you’re going to be all emotionally constipated about this.’

‘Is emotionally constipated your medical opinion?’ Rhaegar asks, amused. ‘Why would I be emotionally constipated, as you so put it, about this?’

‘Well, we’ve obviously discussed your affliction for pretending to be all stoic and moody,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Come on. I mean, I understand doing that with other people – you have to maintain a steady persona of a groomed adult or whatever, but you obviously haven’t relaxed in front of someone for a long time, if your nostalgic performance over milkshakes is anything to go by. Don’t you have one of those fuck-it friends? The ones who you can do whatever you want in front of and never be judged?’

Rhaegar sighs, swallows. ‘I suppose, Jon would be it. He had a pretty strong sense of right and wrong though, even if he didn’t really judge me. ’

‘See, that’s what I mean. You’re literally answering my questions all honestly and shit,’ Lyanna spears a piece of bacon on her fork. ‘I just don’t want you to feel weird later and like, avoid me?’

‘It’s been a while since I’ve been able to be honest,’ Rhaegar admits, ‘So, I’m kind of enjoying the opportunity. No weirdness, I’ll pledge it on the sake of this pancake. Do you have a fuck-it friend?’

Lyanna laughs. ‘Oh, yeah. Jaime. He’s great, honestly.’

‘And he’s never judged you?’ Rhaegar asks.

Lyanna hums. ‘No, actually. I mean, you could say it’s because the shit he’s done is far worse, but. Even before, he’s never really judged me. He’s been pissed, and annoyed and immature about it, but he’s never judged.’

‘Sounds nice,’ Rhaegar tells her. He sounds so wistful and lonely, Lyanna wants to give him a hug.

Instead, she does something better. She pushes her plate towards him. ‘Try the bacon. And you know what? I declare this recent friendship a no-judgment zone.’

‘Right,’ Rhaegar says, making this awful moaning sound when he tries the bacon that makes Lyanna feel all mushy inside. ‘No judgment zone. Harder than it sounds.’

‘Oh, shush, not everything is as difficult as we make it out to be,’ Lyanna says. ‘Everyone should have someone to talk to about shit. I’m serious, you need to talk, you come find me. I can be a great listener when I shut my mouth. Plus, whatever it is, I can bet you I’ve heard worse.’

Rhaegar’s smile grows slowly, and he doesn’t look up from his food. ‘Okay, Lady Lyanna. You shall be me confidant.’

Lyanna chokes on her egg.

She ends up getting back to her dorm around 9AM; she would’ve gotten back earlier but she and Rhaegar spent fifteen minutes arguing about how he would/would not be walking her there. The debacle had gone on, until he’d declared his intention to ‘walk in the direction of her dorm’, smiling at the repetition of his words from the night of the party they’d first talked at properly, and Lyanna had been utterly charmed against her will.

She’d grumbled constantly until he’d brought up Walt Whitman’s poetry, and that conversation had effectively stopped her. They’d bid a quick farewell when she’d gotten to her building, and as he walked away, Lyanna felt strangely emotional at watching him walk away.

 _Damn estrogen,_ Lyanna thinks, watching his back. _It’s obviously been a long night._

‘Hey!’ she calls out, and Rhaegar immediately turns to look at her. He really is easy on the eyes, although his hair is  bit more messy today than usual. ‘I liked having a study partner.’

Years later, she would remember the way he smiled. ‘Who knows, you might just have one again soon.’

.

Brandon is drooling into her extra pillow when she comes in and throws her bag into one corner.

‘Morning brother!’ she calls out, chucking her shoes in the middle of the room like the heathen she is.

‘Wha!’ Brandon calls out. ‘Where?’

‘Don’t wake me up until I wake up myself!’ Lyanna says, entering her little bedroom and collapsing on the bed face down.

She’s barely managed to pull the covers up before she falls asleep.

.

She is woken by the ardent knocking on the door. ‘Brandon could you fucking get the door?’

There’s no answer, and no door opening, which makes her sleep-addled mind conclude that Brandon has obviously gone out.

‘Who the fuck,’ Lyanna says, dragging herself to the door and wrenching it open.

‘Ooh, all nighter?’ Jaime asks. He looks so pretty and perfect, with his hair all straight and silky, Lyanna wants to punch him in the face. ‘Gotta be harsh. You look pretty tired.’

‘Thanks, Jaime,’ her head feels like it’s made of cotton. ‘What time is it?’

‘4PM. I had an idea when you didn’t reply to my message, but I thought I’d let you catch up on some beauty sleep. Didn’t really make much of a difference, though.’

Lyanna glares at him.

‘By which I mean,’ he grins at her all complacently. ‘That you’re as gorgeous as always.’

Lyanna shakes her head. ‘Nice save. I’m going back to bed.’

‘No, there’s a party!’ Jaime says. ‘If you get up now, you can have food and shower and straighten your hair and get dressed just in time.’

‘Seriously, why do people have so many parties here? Is it because we’re rich? My God,’ Lyanna says, thumping back into her bed. Sadly, Jaime follows her in and sits on the side.

‘It’s like, the last night to wear slutty dresses and be super frank about wanting to fuck,’ Jaime reminds her. ‘R. week is to begin soon, remember? Then it will be all _oh I find the sight of your ankles to be most invigorating.’_

‘Well, clearly no one has seen my fat ass ankles,’ Lyanna muffles into her pillow. ‘I have to study, Jaime. I have an exam tomorrow. You have an exam tomorrow. I’m pretty sure everyone has an exam tomorrow.’

Jaime sighs. ‘Worth a shot. You going to stick around here or go to the library again?’

Lyanna yawns. ‘Probably here. Got most of it done last night, but I still want to revise it all at least once. Look, you should go to the party. Enjoy yourself.’

Jaime shrugs. ‘Nah. Won’t be as fun without you.’

‘Why are you being nice?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘Is it because I look like trash?’

‘It’s actually cause I want to lie down, and the couch has Brandon-germs all over it,’ Jaime tells her. ‘Scoot over.’

‘Sharing a bed is only for serious situations, like a Cersei emergency or an identity crises,’ Lyanna informs him. ‘Also, what the fuck do you mean Brandon-germs? He’s my brother? We probably share the same germs.’

‘Yeah, but I’d rather get those germs from my best friend rather than her brother,’ Jaime tells her so seriously Lyanna can’t help but laugh.

‘You really want to lie down, don’t you,’ Lyanna says. ‘There’s always the floor.’

‘That’s just offensive,’ Jaime says. ‘Fine, you leave me no choice, good lady. You have brought the wrath of this knight upon yourself.’

Then he promptly pokes her in the side. Even through the covers, Lyanna shrieks and scoots over.

‘Fuck you, man,’ Lyanna says. ‘Way harsh.’

Jaime is gleefully looking at the cleared space on her bed. ‘Hey, worked didn’t it?’

‘You know the only reason I haven’t kicked you in the dick right now is because I’m too lazy to get up, right?’ Lyanna sweetly tells him.

He throws himself onto her bed, in a way that shakes her. She will never understand why she is friends with him.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Lyanna says, pulling her arms out from under the blanket. ‘Why can’t you just lie down like a normal person? Why do you have to literally cannonball into the bed, every time?’

‘Hey, you once cannon balled into my bed, remember?’ Jaime says, pointedly.

‘That was a Cersei-emergency, you looked like you were about to kill yourself,’ Lyanna reminds him. ‘I was trying to cheer you up.’

‘Well, it certainly worked,’ he says, and although his tone is the same teasing thing, there’s something softer in his face that makes her feel far more agreeable than she should.

 _Going soft,_ she thinks to herself. _I need some dick before I start hanging with Ashara and Catelyn and braiding my hair._

‘Yeah? So will this,’ Lyanna says, and furiously pokes him in the ribs with a full arm. He gives a sharp squeal that she will never let him forget and promptly falls over the side of the bed in his haste to get away.

Lyanna spreads over her bed, and looks down at him from the edge. ‘Sweet, sweet revenge.’

‘I hope your bed breaks,’ Jaime tells her, morosely, and Lyanna laughs.

True to Jaime-being-a-good-friend fashion, however, he stays throughout the day and through the night in her dorm. She calls up Brandon to let him know she’ll probably be up the whole night and she hopes he won’t mind, but he declares his findings of another ‘mating ground’ to which she promptly hangs up on him.

‘So, you’ve got the couch,’ Lyanna tells Jaime, who is side-eyeing the pillow. She rolls her eyes. ‘You can have one of my pillows.’

‘I can never repay you,’ Jaime tells her, resolutely.

When he goes to get his books, Lyanna receives a call from her father who asks her how college is, informs her he’s coming for renaissance week, and implies that he expects to see her get her shit together.

‘It’s time to think about getting serious, Lyanna,’ he tells her. ‘Stark women marry early. If he’s it, he’s it.’

‘We’ll see,’ Lyanna tells him, swallowing the lump in her throat, and hangs up.

When it strikes around 10PM, Jaime goes out in full chivalry mode and gets her a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks, and Lyanna briefly entertains a scenario in her head where they didn’t break up last year, where he wasn’t in love with his _sister,_ and where instead of trying to brush off the nice gesture with a joke and a quip, he brushes her hair off her cheek and kisses her.

Then she snaps back to reality, and judges herself. She knows why. She does, and she knows what they have is so much better. But still, she enjoys the fantasy of it.

‘Lyanna?’ Jaime asks. ‘You’re kind of just staring at it.’

‘Nothing,’ Lyanna says, taking it. She obviously needs help. And sex. ‘You’re a good friend.’

Jaime looks suspicious. ‘Yeah, I’m not buying you anymore damn lattes, no matter how nice that felt.’

Lyanna scoffs, but there’s this strange sense of emptiness inside her that she feels has been there for so long, she’s now imagining literally everyone she knows in a romantic capability. God, she needs so much help. Loneliness can be terrible, but now it’s approaching catastrophic levels of desperation.

She shakes her head, tries to clear out the fuzz. She doesn’t know why she gets like this sometimes.

‘Watcha thinking?’ Jaime asks, sits down beside her where she’s leaning against the sofa.

‘Just wondering why I’m like this,’ Lyanna says. Her voice sounds sad. She doesn’t know why her voice sounds sad.

Jaime looks distinctly uncomfortable. She’d almost forgotten what he was like before, in the old Cersei days – barely knew how to comfort people or talk to them without sneering, or making fun of them. Sometimes, she remembers what he used to be like, and what he is now, and is extremely glad of how far he’s come. Jaime seems to be the utter example of people changing for the better.

‘You should offer me a hug,’ Lyanna tells him, softly. ‘Or put an arm around me.’

He leans over and gives her a one armed hug, sheepish. This close, he looks young. She can feel his hair like silk against her collarbone, and he smells like that feminine body wash Lyanna accidently bought and didn’t like and handed over to him. For some reason, that makes her feel better.

‘Best of both, huh?’ he whispers.

Lyanna stays for a solid minute, enjoying his warmth and comfort. It’s been a while since she’s been able to share a comfortable space with someone.

‘You okay, Lyanna?’ he asks, soft. ‘You can talk to me. You know that right?’

She nods, pushes him away, no real force. She tries a smile, gives up. ‘Yeah, I know. You’re my person, who else am I supposed to talk to?’

‘I’m just saying, you don’t have to carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders,’ he’s quoting her – he’s quoting her from the night he sat down on her freshman dorm’s sofa and cried; from the night she pulled him into her bed and lied next to him, hearing him cry in that helpless way, like he couldn’t help it, like he’d stopped himself too many times and couldn’t anymore. She’d heard him say his sister’s name in that broken, bruised voice, whisper it and say nothing to what she asked him, until she’d told him – ‘You’re not alone, Lya.’

She doesn’t feel that way, and she’s not sure why. ‘I know. I just, feel lonely.’

Jaime bumps her shoulder. ‘Hey, millennial aesthetic, right?’

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Lyanna tells him, readying herself to study.

‘Always,’ Jaime says, like it’s a fact, and then tries to steal her latte.

.

She crushes the exam, and from how Jaime high fives her, so does he.

‘You ready for R. week?’ Jaime asks her. He’s extremely pumped up for their fight, and the melee.

‘You kidding me? That’s probably the only thing I’m looking forward to,’ Lyanna tells him. She has an appointment with Maege at the hair stylist; she hates getting those damn extensions in.

‘Brienne’s doing the joust this time,’ Jaime tells her.

This reminds Lyanna, maybe she should ask Brienne if she wants to come get her nails done; it has been a while since they’ve hung out, and sometimes Brienne just needs to be pushed to do little girly things that she enjoys.

And that’s how she and Maege end up waiting for Brienne at the salon; Lyanna’s getting her extensions, and the stylist is a sweet woman who is telling her how to take them off and put them on again. Maege is getting her hair curled so tight they look like tiny ramen noodles, but in a nice way that Lyanna is sure will offend if she tries to put it into words. So when Maege asks her how she looks, Lyanna just gives her a big thumbs up and smiles.

‘So, you guys looking forward to this week?’ Brienne asks, when they’re all getting their nails filed.

‘Not in the least,’ Lyanna says.

‘For the free alcohol,’ Maege says.

‘What about the melee, Lyanna?’ Brienne asks. And that’s classic Brienne, trying to make them enjoy something. ‘And you love the dancing, don’t you, Maege?’

‘Trust me, that’s the only thing stopping me from hightailing it out of here,’ Lyanna says. ‘That and me and Jaime’s fight. We’ve been practicing for so long, it’s not even fun anymore. That’s a lie, it’s always fun.’

‘I do like the dancing,’ Maege replies. ‘Although last time my boob fell out while I was doing a dance with Barristan Selmy. This reminds me, I need to buy a tighter bra this time. Enough cleavage to be scandalous, but not enough for my boob to fall out.’

Brienne has snorted against her will, and is blushing at it, because Brienne is an angel. ‘Oh.’

Lyanna’s laughing. ‘I remember, God, that was hilarious. It did get you a whole line up of people wanting to dance with you though.’

Maege beams. ‘Fuck yeah. But seriously, I need to keep the mystery.’

‘You literally went around Freshie week wearing a bra and jeans,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘Sad to be the one to break it to you, but there’s no mystery to preserve.’

Maege pulls her hand out of the girls’ who’s filing her nails just to whack Lyanna’s shoulder.

.

But because nothing can go right, Lyanna gets into a fight mere moments after the leave the salon. Everyone’s feeling pretty great about themselves: Maege’s curls are tight and pulled and she’s grinning brightly, Lyanna’s nails are gleaming with how much they’ve been buffed, and even Brienne’s cropped cut has been treated and glimmers prettily in the sunlight. She’d been convinced to put some lipstick on, and she seemed to have relaxed in a way she only rarely did in public.

And they’d all been walking together with their bags in their hands, until someone had walked by and said, ‘ugly cow.’ Right at Brienne, sneering.

Brienne’s face crumples, and although she’s trying hard to look like this hasn’t fazed her, Lyanna can see how small she’s feeling on the inside. She’s not even surprised someone’s said this; although Brienne towers over most, everyone knows she’s a sweetheart who wouldn’t stoop low enough to actually deck someone unless in an actual fight.

Except Lyanna is. She turns around and says, ‘Excuse me, bitch? What the fuck did you just say to my friend?’

The girl turns around, and she’s one of Cersei’s friends, the idiots who flock around her and giggle at cold words and mean taunts. Her name’s something like Shirin, or Sheryl-with-an-S, from what Lyanna can remember, and Lyanna feels like the universe is telling her to straight up deck this chick.

She’s so thin, Lyanna has a feeling she could push her with a finger and she’d go tumbling down a damn hill. She scoffs, laughs and then comes closer, almost hissing. ‘I said, I hope this ugly cow doesn’t think getting her hair done will make her look better.’

‘Right, okay, listen up you size zero twat,’ Lyanna says. ‘You do not want to mess with me. And you mess with her, you mess with me. She’s nice enough not to fucking break your face in, but let me tell you I have zero fucking qualms about it, you walking-STD-on-a-stick. You better fucking apologize right now -’

‘Forget it, Lya,’ Brienne tells her, her hand near Lyanna’s elbow. ‘Forget about it.’

The girl looks so pissed, she’s almost trembling, but she isn’t saying anything either. So Lyanna turns to walk away, when she hears a silent, whispered, ‘As if I’d apologize to that ugly fuck.’

Lyanna calmly stops, and drops her bags to the ground. Maege is getting her camera phone out, Brienne is saying something, but Lyanna can’t fucking hear anything.

‘I just want you to know, Sheryl-with-an-S, or whatever the fuck your name is,’ Lyanna tells the girl sweetly, ‘by the time I’d done with you, sorry is going to be the only word left in your already circumcised vocabulary.’

And then she punches her in the face. Sheryl goes down, moaning, and people are starting to gather. Lyanna jumps on top of her, and tries to avoid the giant talons on Sheryl’s hands, while she gets an elbow in. Sheryl’s trying to pull her hair, but Lyanna’s putting her in a chokehold, twisting her arm back until the girl is crying, crying, crying, screaming loudly.

‘Apologize,’ Lyanna tells her. She can barely recognize her own voice. ‘Fucking apologize to my friend, or I swear to god I will pull these glued extensions straight off your fake ass head.’

Sheryl struggles, with no use. Realizing this, she stops, and says, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Louder,’ Lyanna says.

‘I’m sorry, fucking hell let me go,’ Sheryl screams, as Lyanna lets her free.

Her heart is beating, loud, loud, loudly, and she can barely feel the warm liquid trickling down her neck, but when she touches it she can feel the scratched skin, and the blood.

‘The hell is happening here,’ it’s Khal Drogo of all the teachers who can come running to the scene. ‘Someone explain, right now. Or both of you girls are getting into serious trouble.’

‘She beat me up for no reason! She threatened to rip my extensions off! She called me a twat!’ Sheryl screams.

‘Language!’ Drogo yells, very convincingly for someone who told his class to rape the project he’d given them.

‘She’s lying!’ Maege says, ‘Liar! She’s the one who scratched Lyanna first, look at how much she’s bleeding!’

‘That’s how this started?’ Drogo asks them all. People are putting their hands up, most of them have no clue how this started. Sheryl starts to yell again, and he says, ‘Shut up! Brienne, you speak up. What happened here? I know you’ll tell the truth.’

Brienne is known for telling the truth, and Lyanna wouldn’t expect her to sacrifice her own morals for Lyanna’s sake. Even if the fight was for her. She’s still looking at her previously shiny nails, now covered in her won rapidly drying blood.

Brienne coughs, looks down, then looks Drogo straight in the eye. She’d been his student last year, and his favorite. ‘This girl started it, Professor. Lyanna was only answering back.’

Lyanna’s eyes widen, but she steels herself to not look up in shock.

Sheryl’s started screaming again, her mascara running, but Drogo has his answer and says, ‘Enough. I’m letting both of you off, now. Whatever your name is girl, stop provoking girls from my class. And you, Lyanna, fight someone who’s actually a challenge.’

Sheryl’s running off then, and Drogo’s walking away, and Lyanna is looking up at Brienne in straight up shock. Maege is ruffling through her bag for a tissue, a piece of cloth, anything to stem the bleeding.

‘Dude,’ Lyanna says, feeling outrageously emotional. ‘You lied for me.’

‘I did not,’ Brienne says, but she’s smiling, a soft, small thing that’s growing. ‘I told the truth. The girl did start it by calling me ugly. And you were only answering back.’

‘I got your back, buddy,’ Lyanna tells her.

‘I’ve got yours,’ Brienne says. ‘Thanks, Lya.’

‘None of that, thank you,’ Lyanna says, and then winces when Maege presses her scarf against her neck.

They’re laughing as they make their slow trudge back to their dorms, Maege carrying one of Lyanna’s bags.

‘Well, girl’s night out today was wild, huh?’ Lyanna says.

‘It’s literally 3 PM, but sure,’ Maege says, as they drop Lyanna off at Jaime’s dorm.

‘He won’t mind you’re just, dropping in?’ Brienne asks.

‘Oh, God no,’ Lyanna says. ‘We practically spend more time at each other’s dorms than our own? He’s my best friend. Plus, he’s got the first aid kit.’

Brienne takes her leave, and Maege decides to come in. ‘What if he’s got a girl over?’

‘He doesn’t,’ Lyanna says, with absolute certainty.

Jaime takes one look at her neck and gasps. ‘Woah, what the fuck.’

Domeric goes like, ‘why is your scarf all covered in blood.’

‘I got my period,’ Lyanna tells him, sitting down on their couch.

‘Ew, God, really?’ he says, before Maege glares at him. ‘I mean, not ew, I know it’s like completely natural and um, but. How?’

‘Domeric, you are still thick as shit,’ Maege tells him, while Jaime searches through their disgusting common room to find the kit.

‘So, what did you do?’ he asks, pushing off an old pizza box and sitting next to her on the couch. ‘What did Lya get herself into this time?’

‘A really stupid girl fight with a girl who weighed half of what I do, but had fucking eagle talons,’ Lyanna tells him, looking at the anti-septic alcohol pad he’s opening. Now she regrets it.

‘This is going to hurt, but you were an idiot, so you deserve it,’ Jaime tells her, basically parroting what she has said to him countless times while she stuffs a tampon up his bleeding nose.

Lyanna huffs and says, ‘Don’t regret it,’ but then makes a high pitched wincing sound as the alcohol rubs against her broken skin.

‘Don’t be a pussy about it,’ Jaime says, perhaps trying to trigger her into lecturing him about casual misogyny, but his words are contrasting his touch, his hand is light, and he’s being extremely careful about how he cleans her skin.

‘Dude, that’s like, politically incorrect,’ Domeric says, so maybe Lyanna’s extraneous fucking rants have made a difference. ‘Only women can call other women pussy. Or can they call everyone else pussy?’

Maege rolls her eyes, and kicks an errant pair of underwear. ‘I see the whole underwear on floor thing is fucking universal for everyone. Ooh, is that superman underwear?’

‘No!’ Domeric says, and bolts (hah) to get it.

‘Dude, I have superman underwear! High five,’ Maege says, actively not rolling her eyes at Domeric since the first time she’s met him.

Lyanna’s tilted her head back against the sofa headrest, and has closed her eyes. Jaime’s working much better with this angle, anyways, and is putting some gauze on her neck, which has thankfully stopped bleeding.

‘Why’d you get into a fight?’ he asks her, looking away to cut some tape.

‘Nothing, really,’ Lyanna says. ‘Something I needed to do? Well, something someone else needed to do, but next best thing.’

‘That’s not an answer,’ Jaime says.

‘No, it isn’t,’ Lyanna answers. In the background she can hear Maege and Domeric talk about their favorite DC characters, and wishes them the best.

‘We’re done,’ Jaime says, softly, ‘I’ll have to buy more gauze, so try to be careful in the meantime.’

She barely hears him. She really just wants to sleep.

‘Hey,’ Jaime whispers. ‘You want to take my bed?’

Lyanna shakes her head, slightly. ‘No, I’m going to go to mine.’

‘You sure?’ he asks. Lyanna really just wants to hit him in these moments, when he’s being so nice to her.

‘Yep,’ Lyanna says, wanting to get up. Her phone is ringing, but she can’t care less. It’s probably Robert, or her father, or someone she hopes gets hit by a car.

‘Okay,’ Jaime says, ‘Whatever you want,’ and he’s being so nice, he’s being too nice, and Lyanna just doesn’t want to deal with this weird shit right now. Or ever, actually. She has enough to deal with, what with her shitty father adamant about her getting married early because of the traditional patriarchy, and her brother who’s feeling like a damn stranger more and more, and her terrible boyfriend who is frankly just a bad decision she’s responsible for, or her weird fantasies about her best friend because she’s _lonely_ , or even her casual closeness with Rhaegar, who’s fucking _married._

Like, she does not want to deal with any of this right now.

‘Dude, I love Shazam too!’ she hears Maege coo, and someone’s getting laid tonight, but it’s probably not Lyanna.

‘Okay,’ she says, forcing herself to stand. Her neck hurts, terribly, now that she’s moving it, and she almost feels dizzy. ‘I’m going home.’

‘You okay? You want me to walk you?’ Jaime offers, and Lyanna avoids the urge to deck him. Now that she thinks about it, her hand hurts a bit too.

‘No,’ she says, crossing her arms against her chest. ‘I…yeah, I’m going to go alone. Thanks, _buddy_.’

She needs to get her shit together. She does. If not for anyone’s sake, her own.

 _I’m going to crush this whole healthy boundaries thing,_ she thinks to herself, slamming the door behind her. _I can’t handle loneliness, so I deal by literally liking everyone but hating them at the same time, and ignoring things, and imagining better shit. So, here’s to being lonely. Even if it means being surrounded by people._

She calls up Robert on her way, and actually makes an effort to be nice to him. She laughs at one of his lame jokes, remembers that time she found him funny, and actually messes around. By the end of the call, she’s agreed to meet him that night, and for the first time in weeks, she decides to shave.

People are about, everyone getting things ready for the next day – running around taking pictures, and final dress fittings and hair and shoes and people, and Lyanna stifles that feeling of being just another one in the crowd.

She gets to her dorm and actively talks to Brandon about what he’s up to and what he’s going to be doing soon, and tries to feel invested. She can do this. They agree to have breakfast the next day, before their dad shows up.

 _Okay, time for some loneliness,_ Lyanna thinks, when Jaime’s message pops up.

[J] hey maege and domeric are getting it on

[J] you wanna hang out with tyrion and hit the bar

[Lyanna] oh shit sorry man

[Lyanna] I got a date tonight. have to shave and shit. sorry man.

[Lyanna] let me know till when youre up ill come over

[J] sure

[J] whenever you get free

Well, he doesn’t sound upset, which is good, because there’s nothing to be upset about. Lyanna gets busy with attaching her hair extensions in, just to get practiced for the next few days. She’s actually putting in an effort, and she’s confused by why exactly she hasn’t been trying. She does her makeup, tries to run a straightener through her now long hair, and puts on high heels.

When she hears a knock on her door, she opens up and there’s Robert. Actually on time for once.

He’s holding a bunch of flowers, and a bottle of whiskey. ‘Hey, Lya.’

‘Are both of those for me, or do I have to pick?’ she asks. This is so him. It’s so him, she doesn’t even need to feel surprised.

‘The flowers are for now,’ he says, grinning. ‘And the whiskey is for when we get back.’

He’s wearing a suit (well, sans coat, but), and Lyanna’s wearing a dress, and she can hear voices of excitement outside, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, this won’t be too bad.

He offers her his elbow. ‘Shall we, my lady?’

‘We shall,’ Lyanna says, magnanimously, linking her hand through his.

They end up going to the only fancy-fancy place on campus, this restaurant that’s a blend of Italian-Greek food which Lyanna is seriously concerned about. This is so unlike them, she’s thinking. Neither of them are the type to do this shit. For the first time ever, the thought occurs to her, that maybe Robert is pretending too.

‘So, what do you want to have?’ he asks, touching his tie like he wants to yank it off and throw it.

‘I’ll have the….uh…fettucine moussaka?’ she says, confused.

Robert coughs. ‘I’ll have the Carbonara Colouri.’

‘Any drinks?’ asks their waiter.

‘Uh, a bottle of Chardonnay,’ Lyanna says. It’s always been her best friend for swallowing down food.

‘So, it’s been while, hasn’t it,’ Robert says. He seems uncomfortable, and Lyanna realizes that for once, he is stone cold sober.

‘It really has,’ she tells him. ‘how’d you exam go? It was about, um, for…’

‘International studies,’ he tells her, strangely not offended by the fact that she has no clue about what it was. ‘What was yours for, again?’

Surprisingly, she’s not offended either. ‘Political Science. Went pretty good, actually.’

‘Right,’ he says. ‘I’m really looking forward to R.Week, you know. Jousting, and all that is really where my heart is at.’

‘That I can relate to,’ she tells him, clinking their glasses together. ‘By the way, my dad’s coming tomorrow, or maybe the day after, and so is Ned.’

‘Ned is coming?’ Robert looks even more excited. ‘Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve met him. He’s like a brother to me, truly.’

Yeah, and she’s like his sister, sure. Lyanna’s just about to make a joke when she spots silver hair, sitting adjacent to their table.

‘Oh, hey, look, it’s Rhaegar,’ Lyanna says, before her eyes turn towards his companion. She’s dark skinned, glowing and with the prettiest, widest eyes Lyanna has ever seen on a woman, and she’s - ‘His wife. Elia.’

Lyanna suddenly feels like an absolute idiot, and has the most embarrassing urge to hide under her table. 

Robert makes a face, and pours more champagne. ‘Ugh.’

‘What?’ Lyanna says.

‘He is gross, you know that?’ Robert says, with more conviction than she’s ever seen. ‘He is some gross shit.’

‘Wow, what did he do to you?’ Lyanna asks. ‘Spit in your Carbonara whatever?’

‘You can’t tell me you think he’s alright,’ Robert tells her. ‘He is nasty. His entire family is nasty.’

‘Aren’t you and he related like by some, great-great-grandmother, or something,’ Lyanna asks.

Their food arrives, but Robert has eyes for the wine. Lyanna pours herself a full glass before he takes it.

‘Very distantly,’ Robert says, side-eyeing. ‘Obviously, my ancestor was a retard.’

‘Yeah….’ Lyanna drawls, poking at her fusion dish. ‘That would explain a lot.’

‘What?’ Robert asks.

‘I was just saying, he’s my TA, and he seems pretty chill,’ Lyanna tells him, innocently.

‘That’s one of the reasons I didn’t take medieval history,’ Robert tells her, and she nods. Suddenly this feels like too much effort. ‘And because it’s history, so.’

‘Well,’ Lyanna says, trying to not look over. But she does, and she sees he’s having what is some weird fusion of a Greek-Italian salad, and she feels strange all over. Like she’s in a soap opera glass box and she’s looking at herself looking at his food that she is absolutely certain he hates, and she can’t hear or see anything, or do anything.

Robert has taken a bite. ‘This is…confusing.’

Lyanna daintily takes a bite of her own food. ‘Yeah, not bad actually. But very confusing.’

They have another fusion desert by the end of the meal, by which time they’ve both devoured the bottle of wine, and conversation has started flowing much easier.

Lyanna is adamant they split the bill, and Robert is being patriarchal as fuck again, so the waiter has to stand there and listen to them argue. 

‘Really, Robert, it’s the twenty-first century,’ Lyanna says. They’ve had this argument way, way too often. ‘We do this every time. Can you not? Can you please just not?’

‘Can you please just not?’ Robert says. ‘Can you please just let me pay.’

‘I am letting you pay, half,’ Lyanna declares. People are starting to look, though, and this isn’t their old weekly stint at McDonald’s at 1 AM.

‘No, no way,’ Robert says. ‘I’ll pay three quarters.’

‘Two-thirds and we’ve got a deal,’ Lyanna says, shoving her credit card into the waiter’s little pocket book.

‘Fine,’ Robert grouses, and Lyanna hopes to God Rhaegar hasn’t seen her, except of course he has. Of course he has. When she turns back, he and his wife are looking straight at them, as is everyone else.

She coughs, and refuses to psychoanalyze his look of amusement. ‘Won’t you ever let this go?’ she says to Robert.

‘Won’t you?’ he tells her.

This is not how she wanted this evening to go. At all. ‘Fuck this, let’s just go. And we’ll have to say hello to Rhaegar and his wife, because they’ve seen us now, thanks to your little stint.’

‘My little stint?’ Robert says, ‘I’m being a gentleman!’

‘Who asked you to?’ Lyanna says. ‘I certainly didn’t. A _gentleman_ would fucking listen to me, and understand what I want and not fucking argue with me in the middle of a restaurant.’

They take their credit cards and stand up. It is depressing to think this way, but Lyanna’s so used to fighting the good fight with him, this barely scrapes through her.

They approach Rhaegar’s table, and Robert thrusts his hand out.

‘Hey there, TA,’ Lyanna says. ‘Just thought we’d come over and say hi.’

Rhaegar’s shaking Robert’s hand, and then Lyanna’s. ‘Hello. Please, this is my wife, Elia. Elia, this is Lyanna, she’s in Drogo’s class. And you already know cousin Robert.’

Lyanna shakes Elia’s hand. It’s slim, and the skin is stretched across her bone, and Lyanna’s looking at this woman with no makeup and how perfect she looks in her lavender gown, and she suddenly feels tacky with the way Elia’s eyes go up and down her dress.

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Elia says, and for all that she sounds sincere, Lyanna has never wanted to run off more.

Elia’s other hand is on Rhaegar’s, over the table, and she’s looking at Lyanna, and Lyanna wants to disappear.

‘Well, you two have a nice, dinner,’ Lyanna says. She feels oddly naked. Her dress feels too tight. She should’ve stayed in. Still, she looks at Rhaegar’s salad, and gives a grin. ‘Healthy and delicious, am I right?’

‘Nice to see you, Rhaegar,’ Robert says, and they walk out.

‘So, then,’ Robert says, his hand near her ass. ‘That was a nice date, wasn’t it?’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ Lyanna says. ‘You’re not getting shit lucky tonight, Robert, get your hand off my ass.’

‘I thought,’ Robert says. ‘Is this because we fought? Lyanna, we always fight.’

‘Exactly,’ she tells him. ‘You think that’s what? Okay? Good relationship shit 101? Always fighting, check. Cheating on your partner, next on the list.’

‘Why are you acting like this?’ Robert asks her. He’s up close, and he smells like wine, and she hates him, and herself and everything.

‘You need to get your shit together, Robert,’ Lyanna says. ‘I can’t keep doing this.’

‘Keep doing what? This is the first time I’m hearing about this, woman, you’re off your damn head,’ he says. ‘I thought you weren’t going to be like those nagging bitches -’

‘You ever fucking wonder why they nagged, Robert?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘I mean, every single damn one of them used to nag you because they were bitches? Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you’re the one doing something wrong, that’s causing them to fucking nag?!’

‘Lyanna, you are fucking off your head tonight, you know that?’ Robert yells. ‘I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.’

‘I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me either,’ she yells at him. ‘Fucking thinking this would be different.’

‘I’m going drinking with the boys, fuck this,’ Robert says. ‘I didn’t get into a relationship for this girly shit. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Nice, Robert,’ she yells at him. ‘Girly shit, yeah, sure, walk away, you asshole. God.’

Her heels hurt and she feels cheap after the look Elia gave her; run down and no longer strong enough. She’s getting the feeling Jaime’s secretly hexed her for leaving him alone tonight, and she wants to cry, but then her mascara will probably get into her eyes, and it’ll be gross.

There’s the old homeless guy there who gives her a pitying look. ‘Hey, Lya.’

‘Hi, Jayen,’ she tells him. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Better than you, I guess,’ he says, and Lyanna can’t help but laugh.

‘Harsh, dude,’ she rifles through her purse. She’s got eight dollars and change, and she hands it over.

‘God bless you, Lya,’ he says. ‘Maybe your boy will get hit by a car!’

‘Hey, here’s hoping,’ she calls out, making the trek across the lot to the cheap ass store she knows has something. She could walk to her dorm and drink the bottle of whiskey, but Robert brought that, and she doesn’t want anything to remind her of him right now. She’s so pissed at him, she wants to lash out, she wants to fuck up. All that being healthy shit is going down the drain. She feels sad and angry and hurt and cheap and pathetic and unwanted, and she feels so, so lonely. It’s a fifteen minute walk, in heels, and she goes in and picks up the bottle of rum, and a coke and puts it in the basket.

Then she ends up staring at the meat in the produce aisle, like an absolute fucking loser. There’s a couple in the store, probably sophomores as well, laughing and giggling into each other’s necks, holding two beers by the top. Lyanna feels inexplicably empty inside. Outside, she can hear the music playing, the unofficial celebratory start of R-Week, and inside all she can hear is some muffled lyrics, some light chords.

She’s standing there, like a human miasma of emotion, when she looks to her left at someone clinking in the alcohol section. It’s Maron Greyjoy, with his dark hair and his bright eyes. He looks lonely, she thinks, looking at him grab a bottle of scotch. She keeps staring, she feels oddly numb. Like she’s in that glass box again, but she can’t really feel anything anymore.

He turns then, and catches her eyes. His own widen. ‘Oh, hey, Lyanna. Hi.’

‘Hi,’ she says. She’s remembering those days last year, after she and Jaime had broken up but not become best friends yet, when the closest thing she’d had to a friend that wasn’t Brandon, was Maron fucking Greyjoy – whose shoulder she had used as a pillow in Marine Biology countless times. Who had held her hair while she was drunk once. Whose friendship she’d never put an effort into maintaining after she and Jaime had become friends again.

‘Rum, huh,’ he says. He looks infinitely sad, confused. He looks like she feels.

‘Scotch is a good choice,’ she tells him.

He nods. He isn’t bad looking in the least, in fact, he’s actually pretty attractive, what with his height and his hair that are falling across his forehead. Greyjoy’s are pretty, if wild. The bright fluorescent light feels invasive almost, Lyanna feels tired, and she doesn’t think it’s just the wine.

‘I’ve been a bitch,’ she tells him. ‘And a shitty friend.’

He looks surprised. ‘Um.’

‘Why’d you never bother trying to hang out with me again?’ she asks him.

Maron shakes his head, and then laughs. His voice is deep, something Lyanna can feel hit her in the bones; it’s slightly shaky, almost rough, ‘You looked busy, darlin’.’

‘I am so full of shit, you know that?’ Lyanna tells him, and the produce section. ‘I’m fucking pathetic.’

‘You and me both,’ Maron replies, leaning against the refrigerator.

Then there’s silence, and Lyanna weighs the idea of going back to her dorm, talking to Brandon, texting Jaime in an unsaid apology.

‘This is some real coming-of-age shit, isn’t it,’ Lyanna says, after a while.

‘Hey, I’d write a book about it, except my dad thinks being a writer makes you gay,’ Maron scoffs. ‘And I seriously don’t want to get belted this soon.’

For some reason, that makes Lyanna laugh. It starts small, but it grows, until she’s full blown laughing. She thinks she sounds insane, but she reasons, it’s better that than sounding like she’s crying. Maron’s laughing too, in this confused way, like he doesn’t know what else to do.

They morph into silence again, except Lyanna’s leaning against the damn shelf to take her weight off her heels, and Maron’s still standing under that too-bright light, leaning against the drinks, and they’re just smiling at each other.

‘Hey,’ he says, smiling, hopeful, less sad. ‘Hey, you alone?’

Lyanna smiles wider and curls her fingers around his arm. ‘Not anymore.’

.

They pay for the bottle of rum, then, instead, and open it as they walk outside.

‘So, this is unexpected,’ Maron says.

‘Yep, it really is,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Well, the _you_ part. Not the rest of my night. That was classic.’

‘I don’t want to know, do I?’ he asks, grinning.

‘You really don’t,’ she says, drinking from the bottle. It burns, the sharp taste in her nose even. ‘Look, you might want to be a nice person and put your arm around me because I’m wearing high heels and this is some strong ass rum, and I do not want to tip the fuck over onto the group face-first.’

Maron wraps a hand around her waist, and she feels much more balanced. ‘Don’t worry, no one will tip over. You had drinks before this?’

‘Yep,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘A bottle of white wine, but I also had food, so I think it’s okay. It was some weird Greek-Italian fusion thing, I don’t even fucking know what.’

‘Yeah, I had dinner with my folks at that place,’ he tells her. ‘Don’t know what was more scary.’

Lyanna scoffs. ‘Dude, I want to sit down.’

He looks around. ‘Where’s your dorm?’

‘Oh, fuck no. My brother’s over,’ she tells him. ‘Where’s yours?’

‘Ten minute walk, if you’re up for it,’ he tells her. ‘Lyanna…’

‘Look, I know you want to kiss me,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘I’m sure you want me in your bed.’

‘You have a boyfriend,’ he tells her, like he’s reminding her. ‘You’re drunk. I’m drunk.’

‘I don’t care. He doesn’t care, at this point, as long as I don’t yell at him,’ she says. ‘Do you care?’

‘We’re friends, Lyanna,’ he tells her. He has an arm around her still. They’re standing so close.

‘Exactly,’ she tells him. ‘And that wasn’t an answer. I’m not one for having regrets in the morning, Maron. I may be drunk, but I know what I’m doing.’

‘I’m just saying,’ he says.

‘Look, if you don’t want this, flat out say out. Don’t be such a fucking guy about it, okay?’ she says. ‘You’re lonely, and I’m lonely, and I don’t want to be lonely, and I don’t want an old friend to be lonely. Why does it have to be such a big deal?’

He kisses her, one large hand cupping her cheek, his thumb against her cheekbone. It’s been a while since she’s been kissed that well. She can taste the liquor on his tongue so similar to the one on hers, but she doesn’t mind. He goes slower, then a bit faster, his tongue licks her upper lip before he gives her a few small, close lipped ones.

‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ he says, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

‘God, it has been way too long,’ she says. ‘Fuck, Maron, who the fuck taught you to kiss like that?’

He laughs against her neck. ‘It’s been way too long since someone’s kissed you like that?’

‘Way too long since someone’s kissed me. Period,’ she tells him. ‘So you clearly want me -’

‘Fucking hell, Lyanna, everyone wants you,’ he says, looking at her.

‘No,’ she tells him, smiling. ‘They don’t. But you do, and I want you right now, so can’t we act like friends?’

‘I have never had a friend like this before,’ he tells her.

‘You still have your arm around me,’ she says, and he laughs.

‘Lyanna,’ he says, smiling.

‘Maron,’ she replies.

‘Let’s get to my dorm, because the next time I start kissing you, I’m not planning on stopping until we’re done,’ he tells her.

She blinks, but walks. ‘I hope you have condoms.’

‘Of course I do, what do you think I am, a heathen?’

‘No, a Greyjoy,’ she says, and then squeals when he tickles her. ‘Hey! Unfair! UNFAIR!’

They kiss against his building door, and then against his dorm room door, and then he practically picks her up and throws her on his bed, and Lyanna’s last thought under all the booze and the need is, _‘fuck, where did we leave the rum bottle?’_

But the sex is great, even if she has to stop him from moving for several moments.

‘Really been a while, huh,’ he says, sympathetic, and sweaty. Still, with how they’re laughing and not being weird about it, Lyanna admits that she doesn’t regret this now, and won’t tomorrow either. Nor the person she’s with. Oddly enough, when he licks the sweat from between her breasts while they’re waiting for her to get used to it, she feels at peace, more calm than she has been in a while.

She gives him the go ahead to move, and he kisses her neck in line with what she’d told him, and brushes a thumb against her nipple, and she clenches around him. He thrusts, slow, deep, and then starts to speed up, gets a hand between them to rub at her where she wants him to. She feels dangerously sensitive, and she doesn’t blame herself – it’s been so long he could have kissed her against a wall and rubbed his knee against her crotch and she wouldn’t have put it past herself to orgasm.

‘You mind if I go harder?’ he asks, and she grins at him, puts a hand behind the nape of his neck.

‘Go as hard as you can,’ she tells him. ‘Give it all your strength.’

It’s been so long, and he feels so good above her, and she replaces his hand with his so he can get better leverage, and she barely needs to rub herself before she feels that gorgeous, old feeling. When she comes, she feels everything go supernova for a few pathetically amazing seconds, and she’s clenching around him, and her eyes closing.

He’s slowed down, just a little, and Lyanna is wondering how someone who looks like such a damn tough guy can actually have manners in bed. She’s also remembering her high school boyfriend who had jack hammered into her for a solid three minutes before coming, and then asked her if she’d orgasmed.  

She rubs his back, digging her ankles in. ‘Keep going, go.’

And she looks at him, looks at him look at her, and she smiles, oh-so-satisfied, and he smiles back before he speeds up again, burying his face into her neck before he’s groaning, before she can feel him inside her, and she pats his back as he collapses on top of her.

‘Dude, condom,’ she says, after a considerate time of two minutes.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says, slowly pushing himself up. He kisses her once, open mouthed. ‘God.’

‘This was such a great idea,’ she says, sitting up and fixing her hair while he goes to dispose of the condom. Her extensions are still fine, thank God, and with how she’d straightened her hair, it’s all easy to maneuver into a long braid she can bun on top of her head.

He gets back and slides into bed, and Lyanna appreciates what a fine damn specimen he makes. ‘I will never doubt your crazy ideas again, Stark.’

He offers up a high five, and Lyanna scoffs and gives him one. She suddenly realizes what she’s done, and thinks, _I couldn’t care less. I enjoyed myself, after so, so long. Fuck you all._

Lyanna lays down again, the endorphins and the booze making her all woozy. She’s trying to stay in the moment, but she’s thinking of other things, other people, other shit. She’s starting to feel all empty again, and she hates it. But then Maron puts a hand around her waist, and she thinks to herself, _I can fucking do all that shit tomorrow. I’m with a friend, I’ve had great sex, and my shaving didn’t go to waste._

‘Hey Lyanna,’ he says, like he can understand, grinning like they've got a secret. ‘You alone?’

She turns towards him, and smiles. ‘Not anymore. Not for now.’

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, thank you so much for the reviews! And don't worry, Lyanna has a lot more bad decisions to make, but our girl is trying to get healthy, which is the main thing. I honestly did not think people would like this story, but you guys seem to love it just as much as I do, so!!! Here's another chapter! Let me know what you guys think, and constructive critique is always appreciated. As always, thank you to all my readers.


	5. under pressure, pushing down on me

Lyanna wakes up to a mouth that tastes absolutely awful. She squints her eyes open; she really needs to start taking her makeup off. It’s barely sunrise from what she can make out, and it takes her a solid moment to realize her phone alarm is ringing. The alarm she put on to make sure she wakes up. Because she needs to go to her dorm. Because she’s not in her dorm, is she? The warm hand around her and the hot body pressed up against her suddenly hit her. She feels awake, but also too hung over to really care. Did she really have that much to drink?

‘Oh god,’ the guy mumbles. And oh, right. That was a thing. Slowly it starts coming back to her. She tries to sit up, except his hand won’t let her. She errantly pushes at it. ‘Why is this alarm on, what the fuck.’

She shrugs as she sits up, disoriented and poking her mobile screen without really paying attention. ‘Oh, God, I gotta stop drinking so much.’

‘Tell me why we’re up at ass o’clock in the morning?’ Maron says, his face smushed against her hip.

His now grown-in beard feels nice against her skin. ‘Because I have to go to my dorm, and try to salvage my body before today’s opening ceremony. And so do you.’

‘Ugh,’ Maron says, which is you know, relatable. ‘It’s so warm here, Lyanna.’

‘Come on, we already did the post-sex cuddle,’ Lyanna tells him, not moving. ‘And the drunken-sleep cuddle.’

He sighs against her, breath hot against her thigh. If she wasn’t so dead, she’d feel turned on or something. ‘How about the you-woke-me-up-at-ass-o-clock so now you owe me a cuddle before I have to leave this warm bed and walk you to your dorm.’

‘Not as catchy, but who I am I to talk,’ Lyanna says, sliding down into his bed again, feeling his arms around him. ‘Man you are like a damn furnace. Remind me to take you the next time I go back North for winter break.’

‘Good kush, am I right?’ Maron mutters into her neck. ‘Oh, God, I can’t believe I said that.’

‘Are you still a bit drunk from last night?’ Lyanna snorts. ‘I mean, given last night was like four hours ago.’

He opens his eyes and blinks a little, brings up a hand to rub his eyes. ‘I have no idea, honestly. But last night was fun.’

Lyanna smiles at him, but can’t help closing her eyes. She so wants to sleep again. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

‘You gonna be weird about it?’ Maron asks, his words soft and blurry in the early morning and his warm sheets.

Lyanna opens her eyes. ‘Only if that’s some kink of yours.’

He makes a sound like he’s laughing but he’s too tired to finish. ‘Really, Lyanna. We’re as sober as we can get. You still have a boyfriend, I’m assuming, and this is still -’

Lyanna scoffs. ‘Look, I treat people the way they treat me, okay? And last night was not boyfriend-treatment, so I didn’t give any girlfriend treatment. More power to me.’

Maron sighs. She wonders why he’s being so serious right now, then concludes it’s probably because she’s his only female friend. Ever.

‘Look,’ she tells him. ‘Call it a broken moral compass, but it’s mine. It was my decision to sleep with you, and if I’m to have any guilt about it, it’s on me, not you. I didn’t do this so we could wake up in the morning and act like we’re in the notebook. I don’t think you did either.’

‘What’s the notebook?’ Maron asks, confused.

‘Oh my god, you’re a notebook virgin,’ Lyanna gasps. ‘I didn’t even know those existed anymore.’

‘Are you going somewhere with this?’ Maron asks, laughing at her theatrics.

‘Yes. My point is, it was all in good faith and good fun. You had a good time, I had a good time. We’re friends so it’s not weird and you don’t have to try to kick me out like a one night stand. We both know where we stand. We can talk to each other, and so far we haven’t felt the rapey-vibes of the awkwardness, so maybe keep an optimistic outlook, you know?’ Lyanna tells him.

He looks pensive, then shrugs. ‘Hey, if you’re okay with it, so am I.’

‘There’s the Maron I know,’ Lyanna tells him, grinning. ‘Seriously though, good kush last night. It’s been ages since I’ve gotten laid. Literally ages.’

‘How is that even possible,’ Maron says.

‘My lady parts thank you,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘And the rest of me would now appreciate being let up so I can find my dress.’

Maron smiles at her. ‘I’ll get you a pair of pants, it’s freezing outside.’

‘You are such a secret softie,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘This from the man who’s favorite movie is _Child’s Play._ ’

He gives her a quick kiss, close lipped and all. ‘Don’t tell, or the _Dexter_ shit is next.’

‘You have no credibility with me,’ Lyanna informs him. ‘Now get me some pants.’

She ends up borrowing a T-shirt as well as a pair of sweat pants, because the idea of stepping back into that dress and then fighting the zipper alone in her dorm is actually painful, and that’s why everything hangs off her.

‘Why the fuck are you so tall,’ Lyanna asks him, rolling her sleeves and pants up. ‘Seriously, Maron, what the fuck?’

‘Both my parents were tall,’ he tells her in this strangely proud manner that all tall people seem to have.

They walk in relative silence, talking about this and that, and random shit while the sun comes up. He tells her a bit more about his family, she tells him about hers. He talks about how his dad has expectations of him to be a ruthless corporate executive, and she reveals her own father’s old-ass expectation of her getting married to a respectable family.

‘Oh, yeah, my dad has that too,’ he tells her. ‘He’s so unhappy I refused one of my cousins.’

‘Ew,’ Lyanna says, and he nods.

‘Tell me about it,’ he says, then: ‘This actually isn’t weird.’

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Lyanna tells him.

They laugh, exhausted and keep walking. It’s a pretty small distance, only ten minutes, and by the time they get there, it’s almost 6AM, and the sun is up.

‘So,’ Maron says, smirking and dragging the sound.

‘So,’ Lyanna mimics, grinning before going more sincere. ‘This was fun. Do it again sometime?’

‘How about not just last night,’ he offers. ‘How about actually being friends? Who, you know, hang out?’

‘I still owe you that dance,’ Lyanna says. ‘And I think we’ll be seeing each other a lot more often.’

‘Well, good to hear,’ Maron says, smiling. ‘So, I guess this is it for now, huh?’

She has her dress draped on one hand, her purse clutched in her palm and she’s still worried these pants will fall off. Still, she comes over to him and kisses him for a moment, just holds her free hand in his hair.

‘Happy R-Week,’ she tells him.

‘Mine’s had a great start,’ he grins, sunlight on his sharp features.  ‘See you around, Lyanna.’

 Lyanna shakes her head and heads to her door. ‘See you around, Maron.’

And then just before she steps inside, she feels a burst of something wild, something that makes her turn around and say, ‘Hey! I’m looking for an even better ending!’

Maron laughs, and it echoes in the empty white morning lit street, as he says, ‘You fuckin’ bet.’

.

Lyanna has never been so glad for Brandon’s death sleeping up until she slams the door shut by accident, and all she hears is another snore. Sneakily she goes into her room, dumps her dress on the ground, strips out of Maron’s clothes that she’ll have to return someday, and thumps into bed. The opening is still four hours away, and Lyanna can risk another two hours of sleep before she has to be ready.

Still, waking up feels like absolute shit, because she realizes that someone is banging on her door, Brandon is prancing around trying to gel his hair, and that she is absolutely starving.

‘One fucking minute!’ she calls out, blindly picking up what is on the floor and putting it on before she drags herself out to the door.

 ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,’ Jaime’s voice calls out. ‘Open the fucking door already!’

She slams it open to see him dressed up for R-Week, looking like some rando prince nobleman that she couldn’t care less about at this point.

‘Are you seriously wearing an embroidered tunic?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘Fuck, I hate this week.’

‘Lya, I approve of embroidered tunics,’ Brandon tells his reflection in her tiny mirror.

‘I know. You took a damn class to learn it,’ Lyanna tells him, moving to let Jaime in.

He brushes past her, looks at the couch with disdain, and then throws himself on her chair. ‘Glad to see you’re a ball of sunshine as always. Hey, is that my shirt?’

Lyanna is suddenly hit with the urge to dry heave, and uses that as an excuse to walk to her little room. ‘No, it’s not. Now, shut up and let me dress, or get me some food.’

‘That’s actually why I came to get you. Dress up and we can get some authentic rabbit cooked on a fire pit,’ Jaime tells her.

Lyanna shakes her head. ‘I cannot fucking believe this place.’

‘Remember he fam’s coming over in the afternoon, Lya,’ Brandon feels the need to remind her. ‘Don’t forget your corset and shit, you know how much dad loves this tradition.

‘As a sign of my rebellion against this moronic tradition, I shall be discarding my corset and wear a push up instead,’ Lyanna declares, over Brandon’s choked out, ‘too much information, Lya!’

‘Hey, I support this rebellion,’ Jaime offers. ‘I wore my jockey boxers.’

She errantly high fives him, before she grabs one of the dresses and dives into her room. So maybe she shouldn’t just leave clothes on the floor, because she’s likely to forget and just wear them in front of people.

‘I’m going out sista,’ Brandon calls out. ‘See you with the fam homey!’

Lyanna cringes.

While she’s changing into one of the heaviest dresses she’s had made and trying to get her cleavage just right, she has this slow winding realization of what she’s done last night. And although she only trusts her moral compass as far as she can throw it and in no way regrets what she’s done, she still feels as if cheating wasn’t exactly the best thing to go about. Then comes the question of whether she should tell Robert or not, and so far her guilt-ridden roiling stomach is telling her she should come clean about her mistake while explaining why she doesn’t consider it to be a practical mistake, just an ethical one. But then again, she often feels things she shouldn’t feel when she’s hungry, so she’ll honestly just have to see after she’s had breakfast.

[R]  Lya call me when youre free

[R] we need to talk

[R] let me know whenever

So that’s great. Lyanna knows there’s no way Robert knows what she’s done, and she’s shit certain Maron won’t tell solely because he’s from the kind of family where you don’t spread shit you or other influential kids have done – unless you’re like, fucking Cersei Lannister and need to ruin everyone’s life or something. But Lyanna’s kind of hoping he’ll just discuss what happened yesterday, and just kind of break up in this sheepish yet completely justified way that only Robert has. Then she won’t even have to come clean about anything.

‘You done, my Lady?’ Jaime calls out.

‘Almost, damn this dress,’ Lyanna says. ‘I can’t believe I’m putting in this much effort, tomorrow I’m taking full advantage of the whole fighting dress code and just wearing fucking trousers.’

She throws open the door while she’s straightening her hair out, and isn’t she glad she braided it last night before sleeping.

‘Huh, long hair looks nice on you,’ Jaime says.

‘Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts,’ Lyanna tells him, almost burning her ear. ‘Cause after my family leaves I’m getting a damn pixie cut.’

‘Oh god, no,’ Jaime tells her.

‘Fuck you, you have any idea how much shampoo I use?’ Lyanna turns, brandishing the iron. ‘You have any fucking clue how much effort goes into this shit?’

Jaime’s stroking his own shoulder length hair. ‘Actually, I do.’                 

‘Shut up. You were like genetically blessed, okay? I mean, you’re from down south, and your hair doesn’t even frizz in the humidity. My hair frizzes in the damn winter!’

She’s putting make up on, and he’s poking through her shit like he has a right to, which you know, he kind of does, since Lyanna literally does the exact same thing when she’s at his dorm.

‘’

‘So, how’d the date with Robert go?’ Jaime asks. ‘You didn’t text me back, so I’m assuming all went well?’

_Oh, boy._ For a brief minute, she considers not telling Jaime. But then again, she’s bound to end up spilling sooner or later, and she might as well get another opinion at breakfast.

‘Well, I definitely got laid,’ she tells him as she puts on her lipstick, dark and maroon. Scandal, yay.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Finally, amirite? You look pretty good, I’m going to guess Robert actually did a decent job.’

Lyanna makes a face. ‘Someone did a decent job, but it wasn’t Robert.’

‘Wasn’t Robert, right,’ Jaime says, poking her alarm clock. When she doesn’t reply, he turns to her. ‘Wait, what?’

‘So…I might have gotten into a huge fight with Robert after dinner, after which he left me in a cold empty restaurant  parking lot and went off drinking,’ Lyanna says. Does she sound sheepish? Maybe she will on the next sentence. ‘So then I went to buy a bottle of alcohol and drown my sorrows and celebrate my bad decisions when I bumped into an old friend, and things kind of went from there. You know.’

‘Lyanna,’ Jaime says. He’s gaping. ‘Old friend?’

‘It was Maron,’ Lyanna says, giving up on her hair and just throwing it down her shoulders.  It curls at the end, just near her breasts.

‘Ew! Lyanna, how could you!’ Jaime says. ‘He was my arch rival in Call of Duty!’

‘Seriously?’ Lyanna asks. ‘Wasn’t that in like, high school or something though?’

‘Doesn’t matter! Maron Greyjoy? Maron? Maron Greyjoy?!’ Jaime says, pacing.

‘Wow, you’ve said his name more than I did,’ Lyanna informs him. ‘Good on you. Now how about we actually get a grip and go have some breakfast?’

‘Um, okay,’ Jaime says. Lyanna’s not sure what look she’s giving him, but it’s clearly enough to shut him up. ‘Let’s go get something.’

Then they’re standing under a tree eating their crepes with hazelnut chocolate, in utter silence that Lyanna has sworn to herself she will not be the first to break.

‘Can I ask why?’ Jaime says, after a while.

‘Sure you can,’ Lyanna says. ‘You have a mouth, you can ask anything.’

‘You’re a fucking riot, Lyanna,’ Jaime deadpans. ‘Why?’

‘Why did I sleep with him? Because I wanted to? Because I was lonely, and horny, and hadn’t had sex in ages, much less good sex with a hot person who wasn’t too drunk to get it up?’ Lyanna says, rather rudely with her mouth full. Then again, it’s Jaime, and she doesn’t really care if he thinks she looks gross, because they’ve killed that part of their relationship a long time ago. ‘To be honest, I mean, we did have a bottle of rum between us, so I’m pretty shocked he could get it up, but you know. Maybe he’s got a high tolerance like me. I would like to recommend.’

‘This might seem like a very obvious characterization, and you know I’m not judging you in the least,’ Jaime says, pushing his hand through his hair and sighing. He’s staring off into the distance like this is some kind of damn teenage drama. ‘But, you and Robert are still together, Lyanna. You were still in a relationship. And that means -’

‘That I cheated?’ Lyanna says, suddenly furious. She’s not sure why she’s so pissed off. Jaime hasn’t said anything that she hasn’t admitted to herself, but for some reason, she feels like she shouldn’t have told him this. Everything seems like a total fucking ordeal to her right now, and the nice relaxing feeling of going for what she wanted for once in her life has just dissipated. For some reason, Lyanna feels like Jaime is judging her, like he’s put her on a pedestal and now she’s going to come down, and he’s trying to – she isn’t sure what he’s trying to do.

‘You know what? I shouldn’t have said anything,’ Lyanna tells him, shoving the last bite of crepe into her mouth. ‘I honestly don’t know what I was expecting.’

‘What the fuck? I haven’t even said anything? I’m just trying to be supportive and rational at the same time -’ Jaime says, but Lyanna is not having it.

‘Yeah? Well, I don’t feel damn well supported, okay?’ Lyanna tells him. She feels the sudden urge to just cry, and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t feel guilty in the least, in fact, she’d rather be back in that bed this very minute, instead of having to deal with this, or her impending family visit, or anything. ‘And leave the rationalizing to me, how’s that?’

‘I’m just saying, Lya, I don’t think cheating was the best way to fuck him over - ’

‘Oh my God, you think I slept with Maron to fuck with Robert? I could care less about Robert and what he does!’

‘Well, he hasn’t cheated on you, has he? And what, you expect me to think that you slept with Maron because what, you liked him?’

‘And what if I fucking did,’ Lyanna fumes. ‘What if I fucking liked the fact that he didn’t make me feel lonely, or invisible, or fucking unwanted? What if I liked him? You don’t fucking know shit, Jaime, so stop acting like you do.’

‘I’m just telling it like it is, Lyanna,’ Jaime says. ‘You know I would never judge you for anything and -’

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing now?’

‘And with Maron of all people, really, and because you were lonely? You can’t be serious, that is fucked up bullshit -’

‘What the fuck -’

 ‘No one deserves to be cheated on, Lyanna -’

‘Says you of all fucking people, huh? You’re saying that? You? Who used to cheat on every single one of his girlfriends?’

Jaime looks as offended as she feels, and she’s a personal believer in being able to take it if you’re going to dish it out.

‘Lyanna!’ Robert’s voice shakes them both out. She turns to look at him, and ugh, he’s wearing a damn tunic and trousers too, and he hasn’t shaved properly, and Lyanna doesn’t want to have any conversation with him.

‘Hey, Robert,’ she says. ‘What’s up?’

‘You didn’t reply to my texts, I was wondering,’ Robert tells her. ‘Guess you were busy. You get home alright last night?’

‘Yeah, got home fine,’ she replies. She should tell him, she really should, but she wants to hear what he has to say first, and she definitely does not want to have this conversation in front of Jaime. ‘You wanted to talk, right? How about we move over there?’

He looks at the bench she’s pointing at and nods. ‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Lyanna…’ Jaime says. ‘What are you -’

‘Don’t, okay? Not now,’ she tells him, walking away.

Robert and her walk together, in silence, and then sit down on the bench. He’s not saying anything, and Lyanna realizes with a jolt that Robert Baratheon is actually nervous, because his hands are clamped on the wooden seat of the bench, and he’s staring at the grass with a focus you wouldn’t attribute to him.

‘So,’ she says. ‘What did you want to say?’

‘Lyanna, what happened last night was awful,’ Robert says, taking deep breaths. ‘Our fight? Awful, really. But what happened after was just…unexpected. I can tell it was a mistake. And I’m hoping you feel the same way about it.’

Lyanna’s heart feels like it’s thumping in her throat. There is no fucking way he knows. She’s clamping her hands on the bench too. ‘You’ll have to be a bit more clear, Robert.’

He sighs, looks at her once, then looks away. ‘Lyanna, you know what I’m talking about. Everyone who was there knows about it.’

_But no one was there,_ Lyanna wants to yell at him. But for someone who just found out his girlfriend cheated on him, he’s reacting pretty decently, and rather unexpectedly. ‘Robert, look, I was planning on talking to you about -’

‘I’m sorry, okay?’ he says, and Lyanna swallows everything down.

‘What?’ Lyanna asks.

‘I know, I know what it sounds like, classic and cliché,’ he gives a humorless laugh. ‘But it was an honest mistake, Lyanna, I was so drunk, and we had fought, and she was just _there_ , and I was completely wasted -’

‘Robert, what the fuck are you talking about?’ Lyanna asks him, almost yelling. From the corner of his eye, she can see Jaime looking at them, prepared to step in if she gets louder. That’s nice. But right now, Lyanna is just extremely confused.

‘Oh, God, you really don’t know do you,’ Robert says, and he looks scared, almost. ‘Lyanna…’

‘Fucking spit it out,’ Lyanna says. ‘What?’

‘I slept with someone,’ Robert admits. ‘Lyanna, I swear, it was a mistake, I was so drunk, it was a complete accident- ’

‘You…you,’ Lyanna is speechless. She feels great about her sudden equal moral ground with Robert, but at the same time feels like absolute trash for coming down to his level. ‘Wow, I cannot deal with this right now.’

She starts getting up to leave, and Robert grabs her wrist, says, ‘Lyanna, please, it was an accident.’

‘An accident? What, did you fall dick first into her cunt?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘Robert, at least have the balls to admit that you fucking chose to do it, okay? At least have that.’

‘Lyanna, I’m sorry,’ Robert tells her, and Lyanna feels suddenly extremely justified in keeping her sins to herself.

Fuck that little tendril that was telling her that regardless of everything, Robert would never cheat on her. Wouldn’t do _that._

‘Robert, I don’t want to argue with you right now, okay?’ Lyanna tells him, pulling her wrist from his hand.

‘Look, technically, it’s not all my fault, okay?’ Robert says, and she turns to stare at him. He swallows, and says, ‘We haven’t slept together in so long, Lyanna and I was lonely, and -’

‘You don’t fucking know what loneliness is, Robert, don’t mistake it for being horny,’ Lyanna spits at him. ‘Seriously? You’re trying to distribute the blame? Seriously? Fuck off, man.’

‘Lyanna!’ he calls out, as she walks away. ‘Lya!’

‘Not fucking now, douche bag!’ she yells at him, walking off. 

Jaime approaches her, jogging to a stop and starting to walk as she keeps moving. ‘Lyanna, what -’

‘Well, guess what? He and I are cut of the same damn cloth, because he slept with someone too,’ Lyanna flatly says. She’s starting to go numb, and not care. Good, she has a family meeting soon. ‘Maybe now you can judge me even more, you hypocritical dick.’

‘Lyanna,’ Jaime says, ‘Look, I said some things…I made a-’

‘I swear to God, if I hear someone say _I made a mistake,_ one more time’ Lyanna tells him. ‘I will fucking shove my CAT boots up their ass.’

‘Lyanna, I wasn’t judging you,’ Jaime says to her. ‘I was just, confused, and trying to understand.’

‘That’s not how you understand someone,’ Lyanna tells him, slowly. She stops and he stops too. ‘Jaime, up until the moment today where I brought up the terrible things you’ve done in your past, I have never ever before thrown something like that in your face. I know it hurt you, and I’m glad it did. Because I didn’t expect you to fucking argue with me on behalf of Robert fucking Baratheon, but I could stand that, because you were trying to be ethical. But what has me so upset is the fact that you fucking judged me.’

He looks shocked. ‘Lyanna - ’

‘I have never judged you, Jaime, never, not once,’ Lyanna says, flat. ‘Not for what you did to me, not for what you told me, not for the things you did when you were a damn asshole, and not for being _in love with your damn sister_ and breaking up with me for it. I have never judged you, and I have always been there for you, on your side, regardless of whether you were wrong or right. Yes, I have told you when you were wrong, but I have never questioned you, and I have never told you that your feelings were some form of ‘ _fucked up bullshit_ ’. I have never fucking judged you, Jaime. That’s the thing I tell people, you know? Me and Jaime never fucking judge each other. I really, seriously believed that you wouldn’t judge me either, and not for being lonely, of all things.’

‘Lyanna, I - ’

‘I don’t want to argue with you, Jaime,’ she tells him. Her voice sounds monotone. ‘I really don’t. I have to meet my family, and God knows I need to save some patience for that as well. How about we just, take a breather, okay? I’ll see you for final practice tonight.’

He doesn’t say anything, and Lyanna walks away.

.

The family meeting sucks even more, if that was actually possible. Her father scans her up and down, sees her long hair and nods once, in what is undoubtedly some kind of approval. It makes Lyanna want to shear it all off and leave it in his bed.

She did miss Benjen though, and although he’s trying to act all aloof and broody, his arms are tight around her and she can tell he missed her just as much.

 ‘So, how’s Robert?’ Ned asks, and Lyanna flinches so visibly she’s surprised her father doesn’t notice. ‘I look forward to seeing him.’

‘He cheated on me,’ Lyanna tells him, flatly.

‘He what!?’ Brandon yells out. ‘I’m going to fucking kill him!’

 ‘Language, son,’ her father says. Good to know. ‘He’s a young man, these things are bound to happen.’

Lyanna wants to set her entire family on fire, including herself. ‘I want you to stay out of it, brothers mine.’

‘How the hell am I supposed to? He’s desecrated my sister’s honor -’

‘Lyanna, are you sure about this? Maybe you’re mistaken - ’

‘Are you still participating in that medieval competition, Lyanna?’ her father asks, and nope. She can’t take this.

‘I think I’m going to be sick, excuse me,’ Lyanna tells them, getting up and moving towards the rest room. ‘Bad greek-italian food last night.’

 She then thumps herself onto the gross looking bench and stares at the floor that she’s tracked mud on. She wants to cry, but the tears won’t come. She feels numb, but also like she’ll hyperventilate if she doesn’t leave. She doesn’t want this. Usually, in these situations, she’d drag Jaime along, but that’s not an option right now, and she doesn’t want to call anyone else.

She messages Maege, because Maege is unfazed by absolutely anyone doing anything.

[L]  I need help. And preferably a pistol to shoot myself

[L] meet me outside the tent during opening pls

[L] I think I need to have a panic attack

[M] done

[M] anyone I need to fuckin annihilate

[L] maybe me

[L] and my family

[M] ill bring the swords. might as well have fun. be all beyonce and gaga

For some damn reason, that makes Lyanna laugh. She stares at herself in the shitty bathroom mirror, and sees that she looks fine. Good, in fact. If anyone were to look at her, they’d think she was fine, if a bit arrogant and unsmiling. This consoles her and upsets her in equal measure, but she is adamant that she will not let anyone see what she’s going through.

‘Hello, family, I am back,’ Lyanna says, plopping into her seat. She’s going to be normal, and grit her teeth and get this over with. She can do this. ‘Sorry about that, really bad food. What did I miss?’

‘Dad was suggesting you and Robert take counseling,’ Benjen offers with a sympathetic expression, and good God, Lyanna can’t do this.

.

She ends up getting through that hellhole somehow, and meets Maege, who does not have swords, but does have a flask shoved into her cleavage.

‘I was wondering why I couldn’t see half your tits, Mormont,’ Lyanna tells her, gulping a sip of what seems to be scotch.

Maege shrugs, and takes the flask. ‘You gotta make some sacrifices to get what you want. This baby is gonna get us through that shitty opening. Now tell me what happened.’

‘This, is a no-judgment zone, okay?’ Lyanna tells her. ‘Jaime already judged me and it was very upsetting, and -’

‘He’s a damn pussy with delicate sensibilities and a cock for a brain,’ Maege says. ‘Lay it on me.’

Lyanna chugs another two gulps. ‘I slept with someone, then told Jaime, he judged me for it, then Robert told me he cheated on me by sleeping with someone else, I yelled at Jaime for being a judgmental fuck, met my family which was absolutely awful and traumatized me, and now here I am.’

Maege, bless her soul, is unfazed. ‘Gee whiz. Who’d you sleep with?’

‘Seriously?’ Lyanna says, and then at Maege’s deadpan look. ‘Maron.’

‘Greyjoy, eh? Didn’t we have that marine biology class with him last year?’ Maege asks, pulling two smokes out of her purse.  She grins, scoffs. ‘C’mon, none of that you-don’t-smoke shit right now. You’ve had a rough time, have a ciggie. Was he any good?’

Lyanna looks at the lit one she’s being offered, and then takes it. ‘Fuck it. Might as well. And yes, Maege, he was good. How was Domeric?’

‘Meh, not bad,’ Maege says. ‘Boy went down on me with an enthusiasm that was actually impressive.’

‘Always thought he was the kind of guy who likes that,’ Lyanna says, coughing at smoking after so long. ‘Good on you, man.’

‘You too, babe,’ Maege says, blowing smoke out of her nose like a damn pro. ‘Greyjoy is hot as fuck.’

‘Thanks, Maege,’ Lyanna says after a few moments of silence. ‘Y’know. For not judging, or anything.’

‘No shit,’ she replies. ‘Look, answer me this. Do you regret it?’

‘No,’ Lyanna says.

‘Okay, do you feel guilty?’

‘Not in the least. Not anymore,’ Lyanna replies. 

‘You okay with yourself?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘It’s just that, Jaime thing, kind of fucked me up?’

‘Oh, that boy has issues, okay?’ Maege tells her, moving her cigarette like it’s a tiny dagger. ‘More than even he knows. He doesn’t know what or who he wants, and he’s secretly judging himself. He was probably just jealous, y’know how male friends can be.’

‘What the fuck would he be jealous about?’ Lyanna asks her. ‘And why do you know all this shit? Is it because you’re a psych major?’

‘No, it’s because I have eyes and a brain,’ Maege deadpans. ‘What do you think? The sex, love. He’s jealous of the sex.’

Lyanna scoffs. ‘Yeah, no. He’s my best friend, right? We threw that particular lot into the ocean when we decided to be friends. He knows it would ruin shit, I know it would ruin shit.’

‘I don’t believe that, Lyanna,’ Maege tells her. ‘You and I both know men, it doesn’t matter if they’re your best friend or your boyfriend, or your husband. They want one thing, okay? I think, deep down, Jaime doesn’t even know this, and the whole judging thing was just like a weird Freudian slip.’

‘This is weird, let’s not even talk about that shit,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘I feel so uncomfortable, ugh.’

‘You never told me, though,’ Maege pursues. ‘You guys dated before you decided you were better friends, right? How far did you go?’

‘I don’t like to think about that,’ Lyanna says, but Maege is silent for so long, Lyanna ends up answering. ‘God, you know, just like, half way down to shirts off and shit.’

‘Second base, not bad,’ Maege says. ‘At least you didn’t see his dick. It’s always awkward trying to look someone in the eyes after you break up and you’ve seen their dicks.’

‘Yay me,’ Lyanna deadpans. ‘You going to fuck Bolton again?’

‘Why, you want to take him for a spin?’ Maege laughs, and this is why Lyanna loves her. ‘I don’t know, probably. I liked it, and he wasn’t like a complete cardboard to talk to…I mean, we both like DC.’

Lyanna nudges her. ‘God bless you, Maege. Never change.’

‘Fuckin’ never,’ Maege replies, pulling out two more cigarettes. ‘Oh, come on, this thing is going to last like another four hours, we’ll need it. Plus, I’ll have to give my purse in, and the only other place to hide these is my pantyhose.’

Lyanna shakes her head and laughs, lighting it for both of them and handing one over. She wonders how they look, dressed in period garb and smoking cigarettes, all shady behind this tent.

‘Oh,’ someone says, and Lyanna nearly burns herself with her cigarette.

‘Oh, hey, Rhaegar,’ Maege says, and Lyanna wonders why these things happen to her.

‘Hello, Maege,’ Rhaegar replies. His hair is all straight and shit, and he actually pulls off the whole old era clothing, which is just so unfair for so many people. ‘Hello, Lyanna.’

 ‘Hi,’ Lyanna says, looking at him, then at her cigarette, than at Maege. ‘Yeah, so, what’s up.’

God, she doesn’t want to see him right now. She doesn’t want to see him ever, actually, because it just seems like so much bullshit. Looking at him is making her feel like she did last night at the restaurant, all shitty and small and stupid, like she’s just a kid and can never compare.

‘Oh, nothing, just wanted some isolation,’ Rhaegar offers with a smile her way. ‘Speech and all.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Lyanna tells him. She wants to keep all sentences short with him. ‘We were just going, anyways.’

‘Oh, you should sta-’

‘No, no, you prepare your speech in peace,’ Lyanna says, dragging Maege away with the hand not holding the cigarette.

‘Bye, then,’ Maege calls out, and then to Lyanna, ‘How the fuck are you walking so fast?’

Lyanna proudly shows off her CAT boots, ‘Suck it, fashion. Equality in footwear for the win.’

‘Shit,’ Maege says, when they get to the other end. ‘I don’t even want to fucking know.’

‘You really don’t,’ Lyanna mutters, taking a puff. Jesus Christ.

‘Well, I’m here when you want to spew shit out, just remember that,’ Maege says. ‘You gonna fuck Maron again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lyanna says. ‘I’m not even sure where I stand with Robert right now.’

‘Um, I’ll go ahead and say on a deserted island because your ship has sunk.’

‘Well, no one really said the word break up.’

‘I think fucking someone implies it well enough on both sides, darling,’ Maege says, but in this way that makes it seem obvious, rather than preachy and yes, next time she’s talking to Maege before anyone else. ‘Lyanna, it’s over. You know it’s over. Why the fuck are you doing this to yourself?’

 ‘I honestly don’t know,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘I am so fucked up sometimes, Maege, honestly.’

‘We’re all fucked up, Lyanna,’ she says. ‘Sometimes I’m too tired so I pee in the shower, you know.’

Lyanna can’t help but break out laughing. ‘Fucking hell, Maege, I love you.’

‘I love you too, bitch,’ Maege tells her. ‘Now, you let’s finish this ciggie, chug down that flask and go in there and flash them.’

‘Not literally,’ Lyanna says.

Maege sighs. ‘You win some, you lose some.’

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna wakes up to a mouth that tastes absolutely awful. She squints her eyes open; she really needs to start taking her makeup off. It’s barely sunrise from what she can make out, and it takes her a solid moment to realize her phone alarm is ringing. The alarm she put on to make sure she wakes up. Because she needs to go to her dorm. Because she’s not in her dorm, is she? The warm hand around her and the hot body pressed up against her suddenly hit her. She feels awake, but also too hung over to really care. Did she really have that much to drink?

‘Oh god,’ the guy mumbles. And oh, right. That was a thing. Slowly it starts coming back to her. She tries to sit up, except his hand won’t let her. She errantly pushes at it. ‘Why is this alarm on, what the fuck.’

She shrugs as she sits up, disoriented and poking her mobile screen without really paying attention. ‘Oh, God, I gotta stop drinking so much.’

‘Tell me why we’re up at ass o’clock in the morning?’ Maron says, his face smushed against her hip.

His now grown-in beard feels nice against her skin. ‘Because I have to go to my dorm, and try to salvage my body before today’s opening ceremony. And so do you.’

‘Ugh,’ Maron says, which is you know, relatable. ‘It’s so warm here, Lyanna.’

‘Come on, we already did the post-sex cuddle,’ Lyanna tells him, not moving. ‘And the drunken-sleep cuddle.’

He sighs against her, breath hot against her thigh. If she wasn’t so dead, she’d feel turned on or something. ‘How about the you-woke-me-up-at-ass-o-clock so now you owe me a cuddle before I have to leave this warm bed and walk you to your dorm.’

‘Not as catchy, but who I am I to talk,’ Lyanna says, sliding down into his bed again, feeling his arms around him. ‘Man you are like a damn furnace. Remind me to take you the next time I go back North for winter break.’

‘Good kush, am I right?’ Maron mutters into her neck. ‘Oh, God, I can’t believe I said that.’

‘Are you still a bit drunk from last night?’ Lyanna snorts. ‘I mean, given last night was like four hours ago.’

He opens his eyes and blinks a little, brings up a hand to rub his eyes. ‘I have no idea, honestly. But last night was fun.’

Lyanna smiles at him, but can’t help closing her eyes. She so wants to sleep again. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

‘You gonna be weird about it?’ Maron asks, his words soft and blurry in the early morning and his warm sheets.

Lyanna opens her eyes. ‘Only if that’s some kink of yours.’

He makes a sound like he’s laughing but he’s too tired to finish. ‘Really, Lyanna. We’re as sober as we can get. You still have a boyfriend, I’m assuming, and this is still -’

Lyanna scoffs. ‘Look, I treat people the way they treat me, okay? And last night was not boyfriend-treatment, so I didn’t give any girlfriend treatment. More power to me.’

Maron sighs. She wonders why he’s being so serious right now, then concludes it’s probably because she’s his only female friend. Ever.

‘Look,’ she tells him. ‘Call it a broken moral compass, but it’s mine. It was my decision to sleep with you, and if I’m to have any guilt about it, it’s on me, not you. I didn’t do this so we could wake up in the morning and act like we’re in the notebook. I don’t think you did either.’

‘What’s the notebook?’ Maron asks, confused.

‘Oh my god, you’re a notebook virgin,’ Lyanna gasps. ‘I didn’t even know those existed anymore.’

‘Are you going somewhere with this?’ Maron asks, laughing at her theatrics.

‘Yes. My point is, it was all in good faith and good fun. You had a good time, I had a good time. We’re friends so it’s not weird and you don’t have to try to kick me out like a one night stand. We both know where we stand. We can talk to each other, and so far we haven’t felt the rapey-vibes of the awkwardness, so maybe keep an optimistic outlook, you know?’ Lyanna tells him.

He looks pensive, then shrugs. ‘Hey, if you’re okay with it, so am I.’

‘There’s the Maron I know,’ Lyanna tells him, grinning. ‘Seriously though, good kush last night. It’s been ages since I’ve gotten laid. Literally ages.’

‘How is that even possible,’ Maron says.

‘My lady parts thank you,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘And the rest of me would now appreciate being let up so I can find my dress.’

Maron smiles at her. ‘I’ll get you a pair of pants, it’s freezing outside.’

‘You are such a secret softie,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘This from the man who’s favorite movie is _Child’s Play._ ’

He gives her a quick kiss, close lipped and all. ‘Don’t tell, or the _Dexter_ shit is next.’

‘You have no credibility with me,’ Lyanna informs him. ‘Now get me some pants.’

She ends up borrowing a T-shirt as well as a pair of sweat pants, because the idea of stepping back into that dress and then fighting the zipper alone in her dorm is actually painful, and that’s why everything hangs off her.

‘Why the fuck are you so tall,’ Lyanna asks him, rolling her sleeves and pants up. ‘Seriously, Maron, what the fuck?’

‘Both my parents were tall,’ he tells her in this strangely proud manner that all tall people seem to have.

They walk in relative silence, talking about this and that, and random shit while the sun comes up. He tells her a bit more about his family, she tells him about hers. He talks about how his dad has expectations of him to be a ruthless corporate executive, and she reveals her own father’s old-ass expectation of her getting married to a respectable family.

‘Oh, yeah, my dad has that too,’ he tells her. ‘He’s so unhappy I refused one of my cousins.’

‘Ew,’ Lyanna says, and he nods.

‘Tell me about it,’ he says, then: ‘This actually isn’t weird.’

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Lyanna tells him.

They laugh, exhausted and keep walking. It’s a pretty small distance, only ten minutes, and by the time they get there, it’s almost 6AM, and the sun is up.

‘So,’ Maron says, smirking and dragging the sound.

‘So,’ Lyanna mimics, grinning before going more sincere. ‘This was fun. Do it again sometime?’

‘How about not just last night,’ he offers. ‘How about actually being friends? Who, you know, hang out?’

‘I still owe you that dance,’ Lyanna says. ‘And I think we’ll be seeing each other a lot more often.’

‘Well, good to hear,’ Maron says, smiling. ‘So, I guess this is it for now, huh?’

She has her dress draped on one hand, her purse clutched in her palm and she’s still worried these pants will fall off. Still, she comes over to him and kisses him for a moment, just holds her free hand in his hair.

‘Happy R-Week,’ she tells him.

‘Mine’s had a great start,’ he grins, sunlight on his sharp features.  ‘See you around, Lyanna.’

 Lyanna shakes her head and heads to her door. ‘See you around, Maron.’

And then just before she steps inside, she feels a burst of something wild, something that makes her turn around and say, ‘Hey! I’m looking for an even better ending!’

Maron laughs, and it echoes in the empty white morning lit street, as he says, ‘You fuckin’ bet.’

.

Lyanna has never been so glad for Brandon’s death sleeping up until she slams the door shut by accident, and all she hears is another snore. Sneakily she goes into her room, dumps her dress on the ground, strips out of Maron’s clothes that she’ll have to return someday, and thumps into bed. The opening is still four hours away, and Lyanna can risk another two hours of sleep before she has to be ready.

Still, waking up feels like absolute shit, because she realizes that someone is banging on her door, Brandon is prancing around trying to gel his hair, and that she is absolutely starving.

‘One fucking minute!’ she calls out, blindly picking up what is on the floor and putting it on before she drags herself out to the door.

 ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,’ Jaime’s voice calls out. ‘Open the fucking door already!’

She slams it open to see him dressed up for R-Week, looking like some rando prince nobleman that she couldn’t care less about at this point.

‘Are you seriously wearing an embroidered tunic?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘Fuck, I hate this week.’

‘Lya, I approve of embroidered tunics,’ Brandon tells his reflection in her tiny mirror.

‘I know. You took a damn class to learn it,’ Lyanna tells him, moving to let Jaime in.

He brushes past her, looks at the couch with disdain, and then throws himself on her chair. ‘Glad to see you’re a ball of sunshine as always. Hey, is that my shirt?’

Lyanna is suddenly hit with the urge to dry heave, and uses that as an excuse to walk to her little room. ‘No, it’s not. Now, shut up and let me dress, or get me some food.’

‘That’s actually why I came to get you. Dress up and we can get some authentic rabbit cooked on a fire pit,’ Jaime tells her.

Lyanna shakes her head. ‘I cannot fucking believe this place.’

‘Remember he fam’s coming over in the afternoon, Lya,’ Brandon feels the need to remind her. ‘Don’t forget your corset and shit, you know how much dad loves this tradition.

‘As a sign of my rebellion against this moronic tradition, I shall be discarding my corset and wear a push up instead,’ Lyanna declares, over Brandon’s choked out, ‘too much information, Lya!’

‘Hey, I support this rebellion,’ Jaime offers. ‘I wore my jockey boxers.’

She errantly high fives him, before she grabs one of the dresses and dives into her room. So maybe she shouldn’t just leave clothes on the floor, because she’s likely to forget and just wear them in front of people.

‘I’m going out sista,’ Brandon calls out. ‘See you with the fam homey!’

Lyanna cringes.

While she’s changing into one of the heaviest dresses she’s had made and trying to get her cleavage just right, she has this slow winding realization of what she’s done last night. And although she only trusts her moral compass as far as she can throw it and in no way regrets what she’s done, she still feels as if cheating wasn’t exactly the best thing to go about. Then comes the question of whether she should tell Robert or not, and so far her guilt-ridden roiling stomach is telling her she should come clean about her mistake while explaining why she doesn’t consider it to be a practical mistake, just an ethical one. But then again, she often feels things she shouldn’t feel when she’s hungry, so she’ll honestly just have to see after she’s had breakfast.

[R]  Lya call me when youre free

[R] we need to talk

[R] let me know whenever

So that’s great. Lyanna knows there’s no way Robert knows what she’s done, and she’s shit certain Maron won’t tell solely because he’s from the kind of family where you don’t spread shit you or other influential kids have done – unless you’re like, fucking Cersei Lannister and need to ruin everyone’s life or something. But Lyanna’s kind of hoping he’ll just discuss what happened yesterday, and just kind of break up in this sheepish yet completely justified way that only Robert has. Then she won’t even have to come clean about anything.

‘You done, my Lady?’ Jaime calls out.

‘Almost, damn this dress,’ Lyanna says. ‘I can’t believe I’m putting in this much effort, tomorrow I’m taking full advantage of the whole fighting dress code and just wearing fucking trousers.’

She throws open the door while she’s straightening her hair out, and isn’t she glad she braided it last night before sleeping.

‘Huh, long hair looks nice on you,’ Jaime says.

‘Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts,’ Lyanna tells him, almost burning her ear. ‘Cause after my family leaves I’m getting a damn pixie cut.’

‘Oh god, no,’ Jaime tells her.

‘Fuck you, you have any idea how much shampoo I use?’ Lyanna turns, brandishing the iron. ‘You have any fucking clue how much effort goes into this shit?’

Jaime’s stroking his own shoulder length hair. ‘Actually, I do.’                 

‘Shut up. You were like genetically blessed, okay? I mean, you’re from down south, and your hair doesn’t even frizz in the humidity. My hair frizzes in the damn winter!’

She’s putting make up on, and he’s poking through her shit like he has a right to, which you know, he kind of does, since Lyanna literally does the exact same thing when she’s at his dorm.

‘’

‘So, how’d the date with Robert go?’ Jaime asks. ‘You didn’t text me back, so I’m assuming all went well?’

_Oh, boy._ For a brief minute, she considers not telling Jaime. But then again, she’s bound to end up spilling sooner or later, and she might as well get another opinion at breakfast.

‘Well, I definitely got laid,’ she tells him as she puts on her lipstick, dark and maroon. Scandal, yay.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Finally, amirite? You look pretty good, I’m going to guess Robert actually did a decent job.’

Lyanna makes a face. ‘Someone did a decent job, but it wasn’t Robert.’

‘Wasn’t Robert, right,’ Jaime says, poking her alarm clock. When she doesn’t reply, he turns to her. ‘Wait, what?’

‘So…I might have gotten into a huge fight with Robert after dinner, after which he left me in a cold empty restaurant  parking lot and went off drinking,’ Lyanna says. Does she sound sheepish? Maybe she will on the next sentence. ‘So then I went to buy a bottle of alcohol and drown my sorrows and celebrate my bad decisions when I bumped into an old friend, and things kind of went from there. You know.’

‘Lyanna,’ Jaime says. He’s gaping. ‘Old friend?’

‘It was Maron,’ Lyanna says, giving up on her hair and just throwing it down her shoulders.  It curls at the end, just near her breasts.

‘Ew! Lyanna, how could you!’ Jaime says. ‘He was my arch rival in Call of Duty!’

‘Seriously?’ Lyanna asks. ‘Wasn’t that in like, high school or something though?’

‘Doesn’t matter! Maron Greyjoy? Maron? Maron Greyjoy?!’ Jaime says, pacing.

‘Wow, you’ve said his name more than I did,’ Lyanna informs him. ‘Good on you. Now how about we actually get a grip and go have some breakfast?’

‘Um, okay,’ Jaime says. Lyanna’s not sure what look she’s giving him, but it’s clearly enough to shut him up. ‘Let’s go get something.’

Then they’re standing under a tree eating their crepes with hazelnut chocolate, in utter silence that Lyanna has sworn to herself she will not be the first to break.

‘Can I ask why?’ Jaime says, after a while.

‘Sure you can,’ Lyanna says. ‘You have a mouth, you can ask anything.’

‘You’re a fucking riot, Lyanna,’ Jaime deadpans. ‘Why?’

‘Why did I sleep with him? Because I wanted to? Because I was lonely, and horny, and hadn’t had sex in ages, much less good sex with a hot person who wasn’t too drunk to get it up?’ Lyanna says, rather rudely with her mouth full. Then again, it’s Jaime, and she doesn’t really care if he thinks she looks gross, because they’ve killed that part of their relationship a long time ago. ‘To be honest, I mean, we did have a bottle of rum between us, so I’m pretty shocked he could get it up, but you know. Maybe he’s got a high tolerance like me. I would like to recommend.’

‘This might seem like a very obvious characterization, and you know I’m not judging you in the least,’ Jaime says, pushing his hand through his hair and sighing. He’s staring off into the distance like this is some kind of damn teenage drama. ‘But, you and Robert are still together, Lyanna. You were still in a relationship. And that means -’

‘That I cheated?’ Lyanna says, suddenly furious. She’s not sure why she’s so pissed off. Jaime hasn’t said anything that she hasn’t admitted to herself, but for some reason, she feels like she shouldn’t have told him this. Everything seems like a total fucking ordeal to her right now, and the nice relaxing feeling of going for what she wanted for once in her life has just dissipated. For some reason, Lyanna feels like Jaime is judging her, like he’s put her on a pedestal and now she’s going to come down, and he’s trying to – she isn’t sure what he’s trying to do.

‘You know what? I shouldn’t have said anything,’ Lyanna tells him, shoving the last bite of crepe into her mouth. ‘I honestly don’t know what I was expecting.’

‘What the fuck? I haven’t even said anything? I’m just trying to be supportive and rational at the same time -’ Jaime says, but Lyanna is not having it.

‘Yeah? Well, I don’t feel damn well supported, okay?’ Lyanna tells him. She feels the sudden urge to just cry, and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t feel guilty in the least, in fact, she’d rather be back in that bed this very minute, instead of having to deal with this, or her impending family visit, or anything. ‘And leave the rationalizing to me, how’s that?’

‘I’m just saying, Lya, I don’t think cheating was the best way to fuck him over - ’

‘Oh my God, you think I slept with Maron to fuck with Robert? I could care less about Robert and what he does!’

‘Well, he hasn’t cheated on you, has he? And what, you expect me to think that you slept with Maron because what, you liked him?’

‘And what if I fucking did,’ Lyanna fumes. ‘What if I fucking liked the fact that he didn’t make me feel lonely, or invisible, or fucking unwanted? What if I liked him? You don’t fucking know shit, Jaime, so stop acting like you do.’

‘I’m just telling it like it is, Lyanna,’ Jaime says. ‘You know I would never judge you for anything and -’

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing now?’

‘And with Maron of all people, really, and because you were lonely? You can’t be serious, that is fucked up bullshit -’

‘What the fuck -’

 ‘No one deserves to be cheated on, Lyanna -’

‘Says you of all fucking people, huh? You’re saying that? You? Who used to cheat on every single one of his girlfriends?’

Jaime looks as offended as she feels, and she’s a personal believer in being able to take it if you’re going to dish it out.

‘Lyanna!’ Robert’s voice shakes them both out. She turns to look at him, and ugh, he’s wearing a damn tunic and trousers too, and he hasn’t shaved properly, and Lyanna doesn’t want to have any conversation with him.

‘Hey, Robert,’ she says. ‘What’s up?’

‘You didn’t reply to my texts, I was wondering,’ Robert tells her. ‘Guess you were busy. You get home alright last night?’

‘Yeah, got home fine,’ she replies. She should tell him, she really should, but she wants to hear what he has to say first, and she definitely does not want to have this conversation in front of Jaime. ‘You wanted to talk, right? How about we move over there?’

He looks at the bench she’s pointing at and nods. ‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Lyanna…’ Jaime says. ‘What are you -’

‘Don’t, okay? Not now,’ she tells him, walking away.

Robert and her walk together, in silence, and then sit down on the bench. He’s not saying anything, and Lyanna realizes with a jolt that Robert Baratheon is actually nervous, because his hands are clamped on the wooden seat of the bench, and he’s staring at the grass with a focus you wouldn’t attribute to him.

‘So,’ she says. ‘What did you want to say?’

‘Lyanna, what happened last night was awful,’ Robert says, taking deep breaths. ‘Our fight? Awful, really. But what happened after was just…unexpected. I can tell it was a mistake. And I’m hoping you feel the same way about it.’

Lyanna’s heart feels like it’s thumping in her throat. There is no fucking way he knows. She’s clamping her hands on the bench too. ‘You’ll have to be a bit more clear, Robert.’

He sighs, looks at her once, then looks away. ‘Lyanna, you know what I’m talking about. Everyone who was there knows about it.’

_But no one was there,_ Lyanna wants to yell at him. But for someone who just found out his girlfriend cheated on him, he’s reacting pretty decently, and rather unexpectedly. ‘Robert, look, I was planning on talking to you about -’

‘I’m sorry, okay?’ he says, and Lyanna swallows everything down.

‘What?’ Lyanna asks.

‘I know, I know what it sounds like, classic and cliché,’ he gives a humorless laugh. ‘But it was an honest mistake, Lyanna, I was so drunk, and we had fought, and she was just _there_ , and I was completely wasted -’

‘Robert, what the fuck are you talking about?’ Lyanna asks him, almost yelling. From the corner of his eye, she can see Jaime looking at them, prepared to step in if she gets louder. That’s nice. But right now, Lyanna is just extremely confused.

‘Oh, God, you really don’t know do you,’ Robert says, and he looks scared, almost. ‘Lyanna…’

‘Fucking spit it out,’ Lyanna says. ‘What?’

‘I slept with someone,’ Robert admits. ‘Lyanna, I swear, it was a mistake, I was so drunk, it was a complete accident- ’

‘You…you,’ Lyanna is speechless. She feels great about her sudden equal moral ground with Robert, but at the same time feels like absolute trash for coming down to his level. ‘Wow, I cannot deal with this right now.’

She starts getting up to leave, and Robert grabs her wrist, says, ‘Lyanna, please, it was an accident.’

‘An accident? What, did you fall dick first into her cunt?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘Robert, at least have the balls to admit that you fucking chose to do it, okay? At least have that.’

‘Lyanna, I’m sorry,’ Robert tells her, and Lyanna feels suddenly extremely justified in keeping her sins to herself.

Fuck that little tendril that was telling her that regardless of everything, Robert would never cheat on her. Wouldn’t do _that._

‘Robert, I don’t want to argue with you right now, okay?’ Lyanna tells him, pulling her wrist from his hand.

‘Look, technically, it’s not all my fault, okay?’ Robert says, and she turns to stare at him. He swallows, and says, ‘We haven’t slept together in so long, Lyanna and I was lonely, and -’

‘You don’t fucking know what loneliness is, Robert, don’t mistake it for being horny,’ Lyanna spits at him. ‘Seriously? You’re trying to distribute the blame? Seriously? Fuck off, man.’

‘Lyanna!’ he calls out, as she walks away. ‘Lya!’

‘Not fucking now, douche bag!’ she yells at him, walking off. 

Jaime approaches her, jogging to a stop and starting to walk as she keeps moving. ‘Lyanna, what -’

‘Well, guess what? He and I are cut of the same damn cloth, because he slept with someone too,’ Lyanna flatly says. She’s starting to go numb, and not care. Good, she has a family meeting soon. ‘Maybe now you can judge me even more, you hypocritical dick.’

‘Lyanna,’ Jaime says, ‘Look, I said some things…I made a-’

‘I swear to God, if I hear someone say _I made a mistake,_ one more time’ Lyanna tells him. ‘I will fucking shove my CAT boots up their ass.’

‘Lyanna, I wasn’t judging you,’ Jaime says to her. ‘I was just, confused, and trying to understand.’

‘That’s not how you understand someone,’ Lyanna tells him, slowly. She stops and he stops too. ‘Jaime, up until the moment today where I brought up the terrible things you’ve done in your past, I have never ever before thrown something like that in your face. I know it hurt you, and I’m glad it did. Because I didn’t expect you to fucking argue with me on behalf of Robert fucking Baratheon, but I could stand that, because you were trying to be ethical. But what has me so upset is the fact that you fucking judged me.’

He looks shocked. ‘Lyanna - ’

‘I have never judged you, Jaime, never, not once,’ Lyanna says, flat. ‘Not for what you did to me, not for what you told me, not for the things you did when you were a damn asshole, and not for being _in love with your damn sister_ and breaking up with me for it. I have never judged you, and I have always been there for you, on your side, regardless of whether you were wrong or right. Yes, I have told you when you were wrong, but I have never questioned you, and I have never told you that your feelings were some form of ‘ _fucked up bullshit_ ’. I have never fucking judged you, Jaime. That’s the thing I tell people, you know? Me and Jaime never fucking judge each other. I really, seriously believed that you wouldn’t judge me either, and not for being lonely, of all things.’

‘Lyanna, I - ’

‘I don’t want to argue with you, Jaime,’ she tells him. Her voice sounds monotone. ‘I really don’t. I have to meet my family, and God knows I need to save some patience for that as well. How about we just, take a breather, okay? I’ll see you for final practice tonight.’

He doesn’t say anything, and Lyanna walks away.

.

The family meeting sucks even more, if that was actually possible. Her father scans her up and down, sees her long hair and nods once, in what is undoubtedly some kind of approval. It makes Lyanna want to shear it all off and leave it in his bed.

She did miss Benjen though, and although he’s trying to act all aloof and broody, his arms are tight around her and she can tell he missed her just as much.

 ‘So, how’s Robert?’ Ned asks, and Lyanna flinches so visibly she’s surprised her father doesn’t notice. ‘I look forward to seeing him.’

‘He cheated on me,’ Lyanna tells him, flatly.

‘He what!?’ Brandon yells out. ‘I’m going to fucking kill him!’

 ‘Language, son,’ her father says. Good to know. ‘He’s a young man, these things are bound to happen.’

Lyanna wants to set her entire family on fire, including herself. ‘I want you to stay out of it, brothers mine.’

‘How the hell am I supposed to? He’s desecrated my sister’s honor -’

‘Lyanna, are you sure about this? Maybe you’re mistaken - ’

‘Are you still participating in that medieval competition, Lyanna?’ her father asks, and nope. She can’t take this.

‘I think I’m going to be sick, excuse me,’ Lyanna tells them, getting up and moving towards the rest room. ‘Bad greek-italian food last night.’

 She then thumps herself onto the gross looking bench and stares at the floor that she’s tracked mud on. She wants to cry, but the tears won’t come. She feels numb, but also like she’ll hyperventilate if she doesn’t leave. She doesn’t want this. Usually, in these situations, she’d drag Jaime along, but that’s not an option right now, and she doesn’t want to call anyone else.

She messages Maege, because Maege is unfazed by absolutely anyone doing anything.

[L]  I need help. And preferably a pistol to shoot myself

[L] meet me outside the tent during opening pls

[L] I think I need to have a panic attack

[M] done

[M] anyone I need to fuckin annihilate

[L] maybe me

[L] and my family

[M] ill bring the swords. might as well have fun. be all beyonce and gaga

For some damn reason, that makes Lyanna laugh. She stares at herself in the shitty bathroom mirror, and sees that she looks fine. Good, in fact. If anyone were to look at her, they’d think she was fine, if a bit arrogant and unsmiling. This consoles her and upsets her in equal measure, but she is adamant that she will not let anyone see what she’s going through.

‘Hello, family, I am back,’ Lyanna says, plopping into her seat. She’s going to be normal, and grit her teeth and get this over with. She can do this. ‘Sorry about that, really bad food. What did I miss?’

‘Dad was suggesting you and Robert take counseling,’ Benjen offers with a sympathetic expression, and good God, Lyanna can’t do this.

.

She ends up getting through that hellhole somehow, and meets Maege, who does not have swords, but does have a flask shoved into her cleavage.

‘I was wondering why I couldn’t see half your tits, Mormont,’ Lyanna tells her, gulping a sip of what seems to be scotch.

Maege shrugs, and takes the flask. ‘You gotta make some sacrifices to get what you want. This baby is gonna get us through that shitty opening. Now tell me what happened.’

‘This, is a no-judgment zone, okay?’ Lyanna tells her. ‘Jaime already judged me and it was very upsetting, and -’

‘He’s a damn pussy with delicate sensibilities and a cock for a brain,’ Maege says. ‘Lay it on me.’

Lyanna chugs another two gulps. ‘I slept with someone, then told Jaime, he judged me for it, then Robert told me he cheated on me by sleeping with someone else, I yelled at Jaime for being a judgmental fuck, met my family which was absolutely awful and traumatized me, and now here I am.’

Maege, bless her soul, is unfazed. ‘Gee whiz. Who’d you sleep with?’

‘Seriously?’ Lyanna says, and then at Maege’s deadpan look. ‘Maron.’

‘Greyjoy, eh? Didn’t we have that marine biology class with him last year?’ Maege asks, pulling two smokes out of her purse.  She grins, scoffs. ‘C’mon, none of that you-don’t-smoke shit right now. You’ve had a rough time, have a ciggie. Was he any good?’

Lyanna looks at the lit one she’s being offered, and then takes it. ‘Fuck it. Might as well. And yes, Maege, he was good. How was Domeric?’

‘Meh, not bad,’ Maege says. ‘Boy went down on me with an enthusiasm that was actually impressive.’

‘Always thought he was the kind of guy who likes that,’ Lyanna says, coughing at smoking after so long. ‘Good on you, man.’

‘You too, babe,’ Maege says, blowing smoke out of her nose like a damn pro. ‘Greyjoy is hot as fuck.’

‘Thanks, Maege,’ Lyanna says after a few moments of silence. ‘Y’know. For not judging, or anything.’

‘No shit,’ she replies. ‘Look, answer me this. Do you regret it?’

‘No,’ Lyanna says.

‘Okay, do you feel guilty?’

‘Not in the least. Not anymore,’ Lyanna replies. 

‘You okay with yourself?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘It’s just that, Jaime thing, kind of fucked me up?’

‘Oh, that boy has issues, okay?’ Maege tells her, moving her cigarette like it’s a tiny dagger. ‘More than even he knows. He doesn’t know what or who he wants, and he’s secretly judging himself. He was probably just jealous, y’know how male friends can be.’

‘What the fuck would he be jealous about?’ Lyanna asks her. ‘And why do you know all this shit? Is it because you’re a psych major?’

‘No, it’s because I have eyes and a brain,’ Maege deadpans. ‘What do you think? The sex, love. He’s jealous of the sex.’

Lyanna scoffs. ‘Yeah, no. He’s my best friend, right? We threw that particular lot into the ocean when we decided to be friends. He knows it would ruin shit, I know it would ruin shit.’

‘I don’t believe that, Lyanna,’ Maege tells her. ‘You and I both know men, it doesn’t matter if they’re your best friend or your boyfriend, or your husband. They want one thing, okay? I think, deep down, Jaime doesn’t even know this, and the whole judging thing was just like a weird Freudian slip.’

‘This is weird, let’s not even talk about that shit,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘I feel so uncomfortable, ugh.’

‘You never told me, though,’ Maege pursues. ‘You guys dated before you decided you were better friends, right? How far did you go?’

‘I don’t like to think about that,’ Lyanna says, but Maege is silent for so long, Lyanna ends up answering. ‘God, you know, just like, half way down to shirts off and shit.’

‘Second base, not bad,’ Maege says. ‘At least you didn’t see his dick. It’s always awkward trying to look someone in the eyes after you break up and you’ve seen their dicks.’

‘Yay me,’ Lyanna deadpans. ‘You going to fuck Bolton again?’

‘Why, you want to take him for a spin?’ Maege laughs, and this is why Lyanna loves her. ‘I don’t know, probably. I liked it, and he wasn’t like a complete cardboard to talk to…I mean, we both like DC.’

Lyanna nudges her. ‘God bless you, Maege. Never change.’

‘Fuckin’ never,’ Maege replies, pulling out two more cigarettes. ‘Oh, come on, this thing is going to last like another four hours, we’ll need it. Plus, I’ll have to give my purse in, and the only other place to hide these is my pantyhose.’

Lyanna shakes her head and laughs, lighting it for both of them and handing one over. She wonders how they look, dressed in period garb and smoking cigarettes, all shady behind this tent.

‘Oh,’ someone says, and Lyanna nearly burns herself with her cigarette.

‘Oh, hey, Rhaegar,’ Maege says, and Lyanna wonders why these things happen to her.

‘Hello, Maege,’ Rhaegar replies. His hair is all straight and shit, and he actually pulls off the whole old era clothing, which is just so unfair for so many people. ‘Hello, Lyanna.’

 ‘Hi,’ Lyanna says, looking at him, then at her cigarette, than at Maege. ‘Yeah, so, what’s up.’

God, she doesn’t want to see him right now. She doesn’t want to see him ever, actually, because it just seems like so much bullshit. Looking at him is making her feel like she did last night at the restaurant, all shitty and small and stupid, like she’s just a kid and can never compare.

‘Oh, nothing, just wanted some isolation,’ Rhaegar offers with a smile her way. ‘Speech and all.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Lyanna tells him. She wants to keep all sentences short with him. ‘We were just going, anyways.’

‘Oh, you should sta-’

‘No, no, you prepare your speech in peace,’ Lyanna says, dragging Maege away with the hand not holding the cigarette.

‘Bye, then,’ Maege calls out, and then to Lyanna, ‘How the fuck are you walking so fast?’

Lyanna proudly shows off her CAT boots, ‘Suck it, fashion. Equality in footwear for the win.’

‘Shit,’ Maege says, when they get to the other end. ‘I don’t even want to fucking know.’

‘You really don’t,’ Lyanna mutters, taking a puff. Jesus Christ.

‘Well, I’m here when you want to spew shit out, just remember that,’ Maege says. ‘You gonna fuck Maron again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lyanna says. ‘I’m not even sure where I stand with Robert right now.’

‘Um, I’ll go ahead and say on a deserted island because your ship has sunk.’

‘Well, no one really said the word break up.’

‘I think fucking someone implies it well enough on both sides, darling,’ Maege says, but in this way that makes it seem obvious, rather than preachy and yes, next time she’s talking to Maege before anyone else. ‘Lyanna, it’s over. You know it’s over. Why the fuck are you doing this to yourself?’

 ‘I honestly don’t know,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘I am so fucked up sometimes, Maege, honestly.’

‘We’re all fucked up, Lyanna,’ she says. ‘Sometimes I’m too tired so I pee in the shower, you know.’

Lyanna can’t help but break out laughing. ‘Fucking hell, Maege, I love you.’

‘I love you too, bitch,’ Maege tells her. ‘Now, you let’s finish this ciggie, chug down that flask and go in there and flash them.’

‘Not literally,’ Lyanna says.

Maege sighs. ‘You win some, you lose some.’

.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun-dun-dun. okay, so what do we think? i personally am shocked by the turn this chapter took in some points! thank you to everyone who is keeping up with this story and actually takes the time out to comment because it makes my day and motivates me to write more! as always, thank you for reading, and i'd love to know what you think!


	6. it's only rock and roll (but i like it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert and Lyanna finally get honest, deep rooted issues are discussed in the most gay-way, and Maron finally gets his dance.

She spends the entire time feeling like shit. There’s something deep nagging at her, something cold and hard, and the sudden rush of nicotine makes her feel uncomfortable, almost like she’s going to buzz out of her skin. Maege clamps a hand down on her thigh to make her stop jiggling; Rhaella Targaryen is giving her old speech and Lyanna feels like she’s going to choke on her air. She feels like that throughout the whole ordeal, and that’s what it feels like: a fucking ordeal.

Somewhere in her head, she’s wondering on why she’s feeling so absolutely shit about everything. She’s supposed to be enjoying her youth, isn’t she? Isn’t that what all those novels and movies and fucking Netflix shows tell her? That she should be happy making stupid decisions, and being reckless and making mistakes. Why isn’t she happy then? Why does she feel like she’s being rubbed out of existence?

She gets through the opening, barely notices when Rhaegar walks on the stage for his speech, doesn’t notice anything. She’s feeling all empty, completely miserable, and she wants it to stop. She wants to spend this R-Week the way she did last year, meeting new people, dancing with the guy she likes (although this time, Jaime and her are just friends.) The fight seems stupid at this point; four hours away from him and she wants to apologize, wants him near her, joking around and fucking around the way only they do.

She spends the break between the opening and the formal dinner at night moping in her room, trying to curl her hair into something that resembles a proper style. She peeks at Maege hanging around Domeric, and promptly curtails her way to another corner. Dinner is a drab affair; she can see everyone she doesn’t want to see, and no one she wants to see. Jaime’s head is missing, and Lyanna doesn’t know what to do.

Leaning against some random pillar, Lyanna sips her gross malt alcohol drink in an archaic glass they’ve set, and mopes. Dancing is supposed to start soon, but Lyanna feels like shoving her face into that weird fucking pie they served for dessert and just suffocate.

‘Hey there,’ Maron says, out of the blue, and Lyanna almost spills her drink.

‘Jesus, Maron,’ she tells him, but looking at him makes her smile. He’s standing close to her, drink in hand. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

‘Not as much as last night, but, you know, gotta make do,’ Maron tells her, grinning. He must notice her residual mood, because he goes a bit serious. From where she’s standing, she can see he hasn’t shaved. ‘Hey, Lyanna. What’s up? Did something happen?’

‘Oh, boy,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Didn’t you hear? Robert cheated. I cheated. Jaime and I fought, and I think I overreacted. I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret sleeping with you, Maron. I just. I don’t know. This is not the place to talk about this.’

‘Shall you join me then, on a walk of the moors, my lady?’ Maron says, completely serious. ‘Come on, like you said, we’re friends. Friends help friends when they fuck up.’

‘I have never had a friend like that before,’ Lyanna jokes, then takes his arm and leads him out. They keep walking until they come to a random tree. Lyanna feels thankful for the trees and the privacy they afford.

‘Okay, so you don’t regret sleeping with me,’ Maron says, ‘but you do regret how it makes you feel.’

‘Yeah, just dive right into it, Greyjoy, why don’t you?’ Lyanna tells him, morosely. ‘I just. I don’t know. I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who cheats? You know? Like, I put myself above that particular niche. I should have broken up with Robert before that. I should have broken up with him a long time ago, actually. I don’t know why I didn’t. I don’t know why I’m so fucking lonely and eager to please, to such a pathetic extent that I would actually fucking stay in a miserable relationship with someone who doesn’t understand me, just to sate some family desire, or some part of me that thinks being with someone is equivalent to having some part of your life together.’

‘That’s just depressing,’ Maron says. ‘Look, clearly, this is weighing on you. More than your hair extensions.’

‘Hey,’ Lyanna says, weakly. ‘No, shit, Maron. I’m of the same moral fiber that Robert is made of, except worse. Because at least he had the damn balls to admit it, and I didn’t.’

Maron listens to her, and then says, ‘Maybe you should tell him. Look, I highly doubt you care of Robert’s opinion. But you do care about your own opinion, and Jaime’s. So you’ve made a mistake. Trying to hide it isn’t going to change anything, and trying to justify it will only work for so long.’

‘Shit,’ Lyanna says. ‘I need to tell Robert, don’t I?’

‘You don’t _need_ to do anything, Lyanna,’ Maron tells her, then laughs. ‘But you probably should.’

‘Fuck, okay, I’ll corner him at the dance,’ she says. She’s still wondering on what to say to Jaime, how to apologize without apologizing, as is their way.

Maron gives her a hand. ‘Hey, speaking of the dance -’

‘I owe you one, I know, I know,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Let me do some damage control, and then I’ll come find you, okay?’

‘You’re on, Stark,’ Maron says as they walk back.

Cornering Robert is easier than expected, she only has to go near his classic group of friends and there he is.

‘Robert, I need to speak to you,’ she says over their laughter. Robert, for his own benefit, looks perfectly fine. As much as Lyanna knows they don’t particularly care about each other, it still kind of hurts as to how okay he is about the whole thing. What if she actually hadn’t cheated at the same time he had? What if she actually loved him? Would he still act like this?

_Still,_ she tells herself. _This isn’t about the kind of person he is. This is about the kind of person I am._

‘Oh, Lyanna,’ Robert says, putting his glass down. ‘What is it?’

‘In private, maybe?’

‘Sure. Excuse the lady and I, gents.’

Maron flips her a sly thumbs up as she and Robert exit into the hall, and she raises her eyebrows at him. Maybe this friendship might actually be good for her.

The music is starting inside, and Lyanna feels it touch the edges of her as she leads them away.

‘Okay, here we go,’ Lyanna says, when they’re isolated. ‘Robert, I’m sorry.’

‘Um, okay?’ Robert says. ‘Uh…Okay?’

‘Look, I shouldn’t have acted the way I did this morning,’ she tells him. ‘Frankly, I don’t have any right to.’

‘Lyanna, I’m sorry about -’

‘Shut up, okay? I’m being honest with you for the first time in our entire relationship, Robert. Fucking listen, okay? Please.’

‘Okay,’ Robert says, looking confused.

‘I cheated on you last night,’ Lyanna spits out. ‘I did, okay? And it was a shitty thing to do. Regardless of everything, Robert. I don’t have a right to judge you, or to be pissed at you. I’m on the same damn platform.’

‘You what?’ Robert asks. ‘You fucking what? With who?’

‘Not important right now, Robert, really,’ Lyanna says. ‘Look, at least you had the balls to be honest about it. Can’t let you get ahead of me in the moral race and all.’

‘I can’t believe this! My girlfriend cheated on me!’ Robert says. ‘Lyanna, I did not expect this from you!’

‘Trust me, I didn’t expect it from myself either!’ Lyanna tells him, feeling all sorts of confused.

‘Why would you sleep with another guy, Lya?’

‘What? Why would you sleep with another girl, Robert?’

‘I can’t believe this, I can’t believe you, I thought you were different -’

‘I can’t believe I thought _you_ were different!’

‘Lyanna, I fucking loved you, okay, we fucking loved each other -’

‘No, Robert, we really didn’t, okay?! We never fucking loved each other, and we never fucking needed each other, we were just lonely, okay, both of us!’

‘Don’t put words in my mouth, woman -’

‘Oh, would you rather have booze? That’s all you ever had in your mouth when I wanted to talk to you, God forbid -’

‘Oh, bring up the alcohol, Lyanna, that’s what you always do -’

‘Yeah, for a fucking reason, ever wonder what that was, Robert? Ever wonder- ’

‘Miserable fucking bitch -’

‘You alcoholic fucking asshole honestly –’

They’re screaming into each other’s faces, arguing like they always do, and it feels like all the other times they’ve argued about something or the other. Feels like after this they’ll probably just kiss and makeup, or maybe ignore each other until they’re bored and then have sex or something. In a weird way, Lyanna kind of wants that.

‘You know,’ Robert says, looking at her face. ‘You always looked really hot when you were pissed.’

‘Fucking hell, Robert,’ Lyanna says, but they’re not arguing anymore, and she strangely wants to laugh. She feels so tired, and it feels like an eternity has passed. ‘Admit it, you were more pissed about me judging you for cheating than you were about me actually cheating.’

Robert avoids her eyes, kicks a stray shrub. ‘I’ve always fucking hated it when you were right, Lyanna.’

‘We’d have made a classic elite marriage, don’t you think?’ Lyanna says.

‘Hey, we’ve still got a shot,’ Robert says, sitting down on a tree root. ‘We’re even now, aren’t we? You cheated, I cheated. We could just, forget all of it. Move on.’

Lyanna decides to join him. ‘I think it’s sad that this is the first honest conversation we’ve had with each other, Robert. I am sorry, you know? Jaime was right, no one deserves to be cheated on.’

‘Not even an alcoholic asshole who ignores you and refuses to admit he’s wrong?’ Robert asks her. Lyanna notes he’s stone-cold sober for once.

‘Not even a conflict-avoidant bitch who ignores the problem for months,’ Lyanna tells him.

‘We’re all sorts of fucked up, Lya,’ Robert says. ‘But you were wrong about one thing.’

‘And what’s that?’ Lyanna asks. She suddenly has that feeling like she’s losing something, even if she hasn’t wanted it in so long. She wishes he could be like this all the time, she wishes she could have been honest since the beginning. Maybe, they wouldn’t be here.

‘I did love you, in my own way,’ Robert tells her. ‘Or rather, still do. I do love you, Lyanna. You’re the first girl I ever really liked, you know? Really thought if anyone could deal with my shit, it would be you.’

‘You know, I think I love you too, Robert,’ Lyanna says. ‘In my own way. As terrible as we were together, I think that’s true. I mean, you made me laugh. You dealt with my shit, longer than anyone else has.’

‘You made me laugh,’ Robert says. He’s looking at the rocks near his boots. Then he laughs a little. ‘The sex was good.’

‘Yeah, when you weren’t too drunk for it,’ Lyanna says.

‘You weren’t exactly sober either, love,’ Robert scoffs, and she elbows him. ‘Jesus, Lya -’

‘What?’ she says, laughing. They’re looking at each other. He’s right, the whole attraction thing wasn’t a problem.

‘Nothing, I’m just. I’m going to miss you,’ he tells her. ‘I can’t believe it’s over. Hey, it won’t be awkward at family meetings right? I mean, Ned’s here and, I’d like to see him.’

‘Oh, yeah, shit,’ Lyanna says, wincing. ‘I might have told them about you cheating. So, best avoid Brandon and my dad for a while, you know how it is. Ned should be fine, I think.’

‘Lyanna -’

‘Oh, come on, Robert, take one for the team, won’t you?’

‘What fucking team?’

‘Ugh, I’ll owe you a favor okay? A non-sexual, non-weird favor, with your family, or anywhere else,’ Lyanna tells him.

‘Hmm, you’re on,’ Robert says. ‘So, what now? I mean, are we going to be like, friends or like, ignore each other, or what?’

‘I don’t know, Robert,’ Lyanna says. ‘Look, you’re a not a bad person. I don’t think I’m a bad person either. I think we’re just terrible in a relationship. Maybe we can be friends, you know? In the future?’

‘Yeah’, Robert says, nodding, and then, ‘Is it just me, or do you want to kiss me too?’

‘Robert, we just broke up,’ Lyanna tells him.

‘Don’t be all avoidant,’ Robert says. ‘Come on, one for the road, eh? Didn’t you tell me I was a good kisser once?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Lyanna says, resolutely, but when he frames his hands on her face, she lets him pull her into a kiss. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said it, he’s still great at it when he’s coherent enough to know where her mouth is, and Lyanna responds in kind.

They’re just about to get into it, when they hear a male groan, and fly apart.

‘That wasn’t me,’ Robert says, resolutely. ‘Really.’

‘I know that,’ Lyanna whispers. ‘Oh my god, is this a sex spot? Did I accidently lead us into a sex spot?’

‘Accidently, mmhmm, sure,’ Robert stage whispers, and Lyanna whacks him on the arm.  

‘Shut up, would you?’ Lyanna tells him, ‘My God, we need some distance. I can’t believe we just made out. Like sure, friends, but in the deep, dark future when like, one of us isn’t single anymore. Come on, let’s go back. Wait, you have my lipstick on you, Jesus.’

‘Shh, we’ll scare away the freshies hooking up,’ Robert tells her as she rubs his mouth with her sleeve.

‘So nice of you to be concerned about them, Robert,’ Lyanna says, as they start walking.

And then immediately see two freshman making out. They both freeze

‘Lyanna,’ Robert whispers when it’s clear that the two people haven’t noticed. ‘Let’s fuck with them.’

‘What? Why?’ Lyanna whispers back. ‘Thought you wanted to let them be.’

‘Come on, it’ll be hilarious,’ Robert nudges her.

‘Okay, fine,’ Lyanna says, and maybe this is why they lasted so long. She takes a deep breath and then yells in a high-pitched voice. ‘My GOD, the SCANDAL! Darling, Robert! Come quick and witness this act of – of – SIN!’

‘What in the name of God is happening,’ Robert booms, coming up behind her. ‘You two!’

‘Oh my God, we’re so sorry,’ the girl says. ‘Oh god, we know R-Week rules -’

‘We’re sorry, oh God,’ the boy says.

Robert and Lyanna look at each other and burst out laughing.

‘It’s okay, kiddoes. You all keep on going,’ Lyanna tells them.

‘Hey, use protection, okay?’ Robert says. ‘Have fun. I have great memories of that Selyse chick last year.’

They walk away, cackling. The two freshman are staring at them, in utter confusion and slight annoyance.

‘Well, that was hilarious,’ Lyanna says when they’re near the hall. ‘Shit, it’s been a while since I’ve done something like that.’

‘I told you,’ Robert says. ‘Come on, let’s go in. But first, hey Lya? Who’s the guy?’

Lyanna sighs. ‘Maron Greyjoy.’

‘Shit, he beat me at Call of Duty once,’ Robert says, and Lyanna is asking Maron about that first thing.

‘Who’s the girl?’ Lyanna asks him.

Robert shrugs. ‘Alice Frey.’

‘You could do better,’ Lyanna tells him.

‘I know,’ Robert says, in that cocksure way of his, and Lyanna laughs.

‘See you around, Robert,’ she tells him.

‘See you around, Lyanna,’ Robert says. He sighs, then winks at her, then walks away. He doesn’t turn back and look at her, and Lyanna thinks she didn’t exactly fuck everything up after all.

She follows him in after ten minutes, spends them loitering about and wondering what exactly she’ll say to Jaime when she goes back in, and comes up with absolutely nothing, apart from the rather pathetic phrase, ‘I miss you, so forgive me.’ She did say some ultra-hurtful shit to him, all caught up in her own head and throwing it on him.

Except when she goes inside, he’s not there at all. She catches Robert’s eye and tentatively grins, and he grins back. She thinks she’ll just have to go hunt him down, before they’re set to meet for practice. But first, she owes someone a dance.

‘Hey there, stranger,’ she slides up to Maron. ‘Care for a dance?’

‘And with such a beautiful lady, too,’ Maron sighs, ‘How could I resist?’

They join into the group of people waltzing, and they turn around who she assumes are Brandon and Ashara Dayne.

‘So, how did damage control go?’ he asks, and maybe Lyanna’s face says something, because his next words are, ‘So, not bad?’

‘Not bad at all, actually,’ Lyanna says. ‘In fact, went great. I’m surprised, actually, but very glad. I think if he and I had just been honest instead of waiting this long for things to boil over, we could have actually worked. Or maybe it’s just the whole thing that made us mature to the extent where we now understand that we were both wrong.’

‘Wow,’ Maron says, eyebrow raised. ‘I’m judging myself for understanding you.’

‘Shut up and dance, Greyjoy,’ Lyanna laughs. ‘With how much you’ve bloody well cried about me owing you one, you’d think you’d enjoy it more.’

‘Bringing out the claws, are we?’ Maron says, and in the most obnoxious way possible, ‘Good thing I’m into that.’

Lyanna can’t help but laugh at him, and he’s laughing too; she dances with him two more times, then once with Ned who shows up out of the literal shadows, and then with Maron again, once. Then she begs off, citing more damage control.

‘Ground control to major tom,’ Lyanna says, ‘I have a best friend to serenade with songs of how fucking stupid I am.’

‘Wish I could be witness to that,’ Maron laughs, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

‘Fuck off, Greyjoy,’ Lyanna tells him, but she’s smiling too. ‘You owe me a better dance, the waltz is so not our thing.’

‘What do you suggest?’ he asks.

‘You would do a wicked samba, I feel,’ Lyanna says. ‘You’ve got the hips for it.’

‘I’ll take you at your word, love,’ he tells her. ‘Now then, have a nice night. I’ll go catch up with the lads. Let me know if you need to talk after the Chernobyl clean up.’

‘Fuck,’ Lyanna laughs, and leaves.

.

She strips off her dress and dumps it on the floor of her dorm, pulls on her pants and a t-shirt, grabs her sword and runs to the practice place. She knows that Jaime’s most likely there, because that’s also the place both of them go to mope after shitty things happen; Domeric had confirmed her suspicion that Jaime wasn’t in their dorm.

Except he’s not in their place either, she’s standing in the open moor with the moonlight on her damn face, and he isn’t there. And even though she’s confessed her piece to Robert, and fixed her mistake with him there, and feels like a relatively good person, she realizes that that feeling of fucking up hasn’t exactly gone away. And she knows deep down, that it won’t go away until she fixes things with the one person who means the most to her.

Except, he’s not here, and he’s never late unless it’s on purpose, and after fifteen minutes of standing there like a fucking idiot, Lyanna wonders if she’s fucked up enough to actually warrant him not showing up at all. There’s something building up inside of her, and she has a feeling that she is going to end up crying.

‘God, Jaime, I know I deserve it,’ Lyanna announces to the clearing, trying to stay angry instead of bawling. ‘But you are such a fucking dick!’

‘I know,’ Jaime replies, and Lyanna almost jumps out of her skin.

He’s standing there with his sword clasped in his left hand, and Lyanna fucking missed him. ‘Shit, Jaime. You’re not.’

And for all the things she wants to say to him, she’s terrified that if she opens her mouth, she will actually break down in the most embarrassing way ever. She doesn’t know how to do this, she doesn’t know how to apologize and own up to a mistake in a way that isn’t joking about it, or shouting. What makes it worse is that he doesn’t either, because neither of them were raised in families that enjoy vulnerable fucking statements and honest emotional shit, but Lyanna doesn’t want this friendship to end up the way her and Brandon did, all stilted and dishonest.

 ‘Look, Lyanna, about this morning -’ Jaime starts, but Lyanna won’t let him.

‘Jaime, I’m a fucking idiot,’ Lyanna says. ‘I am so stupid, I am so fucked up, I don’t even know what is wrong with me. This morning was a total cluster-fuck, okay? I mean, shit, I bit your head off for literally stating something that absolutely made sense, but in the moment just seemed like you were judging me. I know you weren’t, okay? I know that. I was judging myself, deep down, but I just didn’t want to admit that I’d done something wrong, most of all to you.’

Jaime is just looking at her, all closed off, slight disbelief, like he can’t believe she’s saying any of this.

‘God, Jaime, I’m sorry, okay?’ Lyanna tells him. ‘You were right, okay, shit, I was wrong, I was so wrong, and fuck, I was mean, and hurtful, and terrible, and I was cruel to you, and I had no right to be, and I’m fucking sorry. I am so sorry, okay? You’re my best friend, and fuck everything else.’

‘Wow,’ he says.

‘Seriously? Is that it?’ Lyanna asks. She feels like crying. ‘Jaime, come on, okay? I’m sorry about all the shit I brought up. I am, especially the shit about Cersei. I’m awful, I know. And you were right, so I fucking came clean to Robert, and we’re good now. And I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ he says, finally, and when she tries to interrupt him and shushes her. ‘Let me say this, yeah? I’m sorry for being weird about Maron. And you were right about that, I was…being weird. I don’t know why. I thought about it constantly, and I’m no close to figuring it out then I was starting off. You’re my best friend, Lyanna. And sure, maybe I was right, but I didn’t exactly say it the way I should have. And being your closest friend, I should have had an idea of your actual feelings. I may have been right, but I didn’t phrase it right in the least. You’ve always been there for me, and although you’ve kicked me in the shit for being an idiot, I’ve never felt judged.’

Then he just looks confused, and Lyanna doesn’t know what to say, so they just stand there, awkwardly. She really wishes someone would have taught them to deal with their damn emotions and how to react to deep conversations.

‘So, yeah,’ Lyanna says, just as Jaime says, ‘Cool.’

‘Cool?’ she asks, smiling a little. ‘Nah, it’s chill, homie.’

‘Oh, God,’ Jaime says, but he’s smiling, rolling his eyes like he does all the damn time. ‘Our first heart to heart and you had to ruin it.’

‘Hey, I’m not the one who said _cool,_ ’ Lyanna tells him. The lump in her throat is disappearing, and suddenly this day seems better.

‘Let it go, playa,’ Jaime says, and then cringes at himself. ‘Yeah, no, please ignore what I just said.’

Just being around him after a brief period of acrimony has Lyanna feeling way too emotional, but then again, it’s been a weird day. Just looking at him stand there, only a few feet in front of her, makes her feel like crying, but in a cathartic, exhausted way. Everything feels right in the world for now, and he’s so close in front of her she can almost just take a single step and hug him. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just looks at him, with those sharp features, that aquiline nose she’d traced once upon a time, the cut of his jawbone where she’d bitten him. It’s strange being friends after you’ve almost loved someone, but she supposes she does love him now, albeit in a different way.

‘What?’ he asks, laughing a little, looking sheepish.

She is one of the few people who can make him feel insecure, she knows that. Back when they were dating, he’d admitted it to her in a moment of being drunk.

‘You make me want to be better,’ he’d said. ‘And I know I’m not that kind of guy, so. It makes me feel self conscious about really stupid things.’

She’d given him a hug then too.

 Lyanna shakes herself out of her reverie, smiling. ‘Nothing. Just want to hug you.’

‘Hey, I’m not stopping you,’ Jaime tells her, throwing his own sword down. His hair has grown out, and it touches her neck when she hugs him. She curls her hand around a silky strand and tugs a little.

‘Hair down to her shoulders, eh?’ she says, smiling even though he can’t see it.

But she can hear him smiling when he says, ‘hair like a girl, right?’

She laughs, can feel his hand tugging her own hair. She pulls away, but one had stays against his shoulder. She’s not in her heels, but instead in her sneakers, and she comes up to his shoulder. It’s annoying, but it also lets her look at his face clearly, illuminated in the night light.

‘Seriously, you’re looking again,’ Jaime says, laughing a little wildly. ‘What are you thinking about woman?’

‘I’m wondering why the fuck you had to be in love with your damn sister,’ Lyanna says, laughing turn, a little wistfully. There’s something serious at the end of her tone, something she doesn’t like to notice for too long, because she’s not one to cry over past things. ‘Seriously, I know we’ve never talked about the whole thing, but, man, that was shitty as fuck, not going to lie.’

‘You’ve – I didn’t know what to say,’ Jaime says, looking a bit shocked. She doesn’t blame him, this conversation has been a rollercoaster. This entire day has been a rollercoaster. ‘Lyanna, I just. I don’t know. Believe me when I say this, I tried to forget her, you know? Like, I wasn’t trying to…lead you on…. I just. I tried to not love her and –’

‘Oh, shush you,’ Lyanna tells him, feeling suddenly guilty about the dark tone the conversation has taken. That’s not what she meant to do here. But she does need to address this thing, does need to put a name to it, make it tangible. ‘I know. I know that, okay? I know you tried, Jaime. And we can’t help the people we love, we really can’t, so I don’t blame you for anything. And I don’t think you were leading me on, I believe it when you say you tried.’

‘Lyanna, no offense but why are we discussing this now? It’s been a year now, almost,’ Jaime asks.

Lyanna sighs and shuffles her shoes in the sand as she walks over to the stone rail and leans. ‘I don’t know, because. Because I should have talked about this long ago. Maybe not then, exactly, because we were both nervous and hurt and not exactly as close as we are now, but. After a while. I talked to Robert tonight, for the first time, honestly. You know? Like, laid it bare. And it was good for us. I wish I’d talked to him since the beginning. Jaime, we’ve been raised in the kind of families where being honest about your feelings is considered showing weakness, and being vulnerable and acknowledging the fact that someone’s actions have hurt you is considered embarrassing.’

‘Lyanna,’ Jaime says, coming to stand near her, and she knows he doesn’t know what to say. But Lyanna isn’t going to stop right now. He needs to hear her side, even if he can’t respond in kind.

‘I know, that night when I practically took you home like an abandoned puppy, I acted like nothing was wrong. Like I wasn’t hurt, or confused, or something. But Jaime, I really, really, _really_ fuckin’ liked you,’ Lyanna says, and her voice cracks a little. She feels like she’s opening her ribcage and letting him peck her heart out, but also like she’s freefalling off a cliff. ‘And I was hurt when you said that you didn’t like me as much as _someone else._ It hurt me when you said you were in love with another girl, and it fucking _broke my heart_ when you just disappeared out of my life like I hadn’t even affected you.’

‘Lyanna,’ Jaime says, but she can’t look at him. It’s like a dam has broken.

‘And I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, or make you feel bad. I just, want to be honest with you. And tell you what I really felt in regards to what you did. And because I never told you how I really felt about you. I fucking hid everything because I thought to myself, _I’m going to have ages being with this guy, and I can open up slowly,_ like I was some kind of fucking flower blossom or some shit. Like, I thought, I don’t want to seem all weak and vulnerable, not now, I can tell him how much I like him later, except that never happened, and when you left I acted like it didn’t fucking hurt, even though all I felt was that _I wasn’t enough for you._ And I know, that’s really stupid, but yeah. And when we became friends, I didn’t want you to judge me for being too soft, or girly, which I’ve understood was really sexist of me. But you should know the truth.’

She finally looks at him, strangely feeling weighted down and unfettered at the same. ‘I fucking adored you. Like, I didn’t love you or anything. But, I could have, you know? _I could have_. And it fucking freaked me out to have you pull a ditch and run, and maybe secretly, that’s why I went out with Robert. Because I was never into him that much. But my point is, you should know, because I think secretly I was just getting pissed at you for it, while not admitting it. So now, it’s out in the open. And yes, I do love you now, and yes, it’s a different kind of love, but I’m extremely glad to have you as my best friend, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Let my family think it’s gay of me to say all this shit, but fuck them. Yeah.’

‘Um,’ Jaime says, face completely slack. ‘Wow, um.’

Lyanna rolls her eyes and goes to pick up her sword. ‘Yeah, okay, don’t shut down there. It’s fine; it’s not an orgasm that you have to return the favor. I wanted to tell you all this, and I did. Now can we please practice?’

‘Um…sure,’ Jaime says, shaking his head a little. He looks lost, like she’s just said something to him that he couldn’t have envisioned.

‘Jaime, don’t make me stab you,’ she tells him. ‘Let’s go. En guard, bitch.’

He unsheathes his sword as she gets into position, and they begin to fight. As she parries his first attack, she knows his head isn’t in the game right now, he isn’t being the sharp-eyed, fast-footed soldier she knows he can be, probably because she’s just lectured him about feelings and he can’t deal. But she doesn’t want to push him too much, and bringing this fact up is only going to serve to make him more conscious about how he’s fighting.

She keeps moving, keeps tracing the steps in the dance they know so well by now, and keeps bringing her sword around to clash with his. There’s that classic burn in her muscles, that gnawing acidity coursing through her veins, that makes her day seem so much sharper around the edges. There’s nothing Lyanna likes as much as a good fight, and for all of what Jaime does, he’s never treated her like she was fragile. Still, today he’s off his game, and she knows it; the next time he strikes, Lyanna notices his open side and blocks him, then throws her weight on his shoulder.

‘Shit,’ he says, staggering.

‘You’re distracted,’ she tells him.

‘No shit,’ he answers. His hair is flying every time he moves too fast, and Lyanna is still jealous of those damn genetics.

They keep going, finishing up their usual choreography, without any surprise attacks from Lyanna this time, and by the time they end at the main block, Lyanna’s arms are threatening to give out. The sword isn’t exactly light either, and she dreads taking it back to her dorm after this.

As they pull away, she sheathes her sword and offers him a high five, hand screaming when she lifts it. ‘I really can’t wait for tomorrow.’

‘I can’t either,’ Jaime says, but his face is blank. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’

Lyanna’s pretty sure he’s going to need some time to absorb everything and come to terms with it. She nods at him, offers up an errant smile. ‘Well, I think we should both get some rest. You wanna come over and chill for a while? I think I have some light beer or something.’

‘Yeah, definitely,’ he answers her, and maybe now Lyanna feels doubtful of her decision to confess everything so blatantly. She may be feeling free and shit, but Jaime’s clearly uncomfortable. They start walking back to her dorm, and there’s this weird sort of tension in the air, but Lyanna doesn’t want to break it.

She’s making the perfect plan of going into her room, claiming exhaustion and passing out in her covers. But then she’s opening her door and stepping in, and getting the beers out, and they’re just sitting on her couch. He’s put his legs on her coffee table. He’s just sipping his beer, and staring into the space in front of him. Lyanna doesn’t know what exactly is happening anymore. She feels so tired, she doesn’t want to feel discomforted in her own damn place. She’s chugs her beer down, barely notices him put his down. He needs some space; that much is clear.

Lyanna gets up. ‘So, I’m going to go to bed, you can, sleep, and think about things, and tomorrow we’ll go get breakfast together. Maybe that rabbit on a spit, or something equally gross and antiquated.’

He doesn’t say anything, and then Lyanna feels awkward, so she decides to just make a quick fucking retreat to her bed. She’s barely taken a step before she feels his hand come around her wrist and pull a little, just enough to make her stop.

‘I was falling in love with you,’ Jaime says, softly, so softly, that for a moment Lyanna literally doubts what she’s heard. ‘You were the first girl apart from Cersei I ever really liked, you know? Like, I saw you for the first time during freshman week scolding some guy who’d tried to ask you out, and I thought, _her._ And Lyanna, you don’t even know how fucking desperately I wanted you, and how fucking happy I was to know that I was capable of wanting someone other than Cersei. You don’t have a clue. And you were _you_ – amazing and beautiful and you didn’t take any of my shit, and you were just miles out of my league. And as much as I tried to get over it, I couldn’t help but feel like I was cheating on both of you. And you deserved better than that, Lya, you deserve someone who will fucking cherish you, and love you with everything they are and everything they have, not someone who can’t get their head out of their ass far enough to see to see the most perfect girl and be unable to fucking _let go_ of someone who isn’t even good for them.’

Lyanna feels the shock permeate the air around her. His hand around her wrist burns. ‘Jaime…’

‘I’m sorry, Lyanna,’ he says, and his voice breaks at her name. ‘I am so fucking sorry. You don’t even know how sorry I am. You weren’t the one not good enough, if anything, I’m the one who’s not good enough for you. It’s weird because I spent years dating girls and never feeling shit while I was with Cersei, and then you fucking came along, and actually made me think. And I thought, Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t do this to her. She deserves to be with someone who can give her that one hundred percent, and if I can’t do that, then I sure as hell don’t deserve her. And…I didn’t know what to say to you. I just, I still don’t know what to say. Except I’m sorry. And that I’m an idiot. And that -’

‘I forgive you,’ Lyanna interrupts. She feels strangely off-kilter. It’s almost midnight, she thinks, and they have a fight tomorrow, and she just broke up with someone today, and that she’s with the person she cares most about, working out an old, old, problem. ‘I forgave you a long time ago, Jaime.’

She sits down again, but he doesn’t let go of her arm. As if he’s afraid she might just leave. ‘You’re my best friend, and you’re a good person. And I’m sort of glad we broke up, otherwise we wouldn’t have this fucking dope friendship. No relationship can beat this. You know this, and I know this, y’know? So it’s fine. Although, I have to agree with you, letting this _fine_ piece of ass escape does make you a total idiot.’

He laughs, a little, but he’s still looking at her. Again, she’s surprised by how fucking beautiful he can look sometimes. ‘No debate there,’ he says.

She smiles at him. ‘This has been one of the most gayest days of my life. First Maron, then Robert, now you. Dad’s probably feeling emotionally constipated on my behalf.’

‘What the hell happened with Robert?’ he asks, and Lyanna laughs, and recounts the whole thing for him. It’s only around an hour later, that she can’t help but yawn, and bid farewell.

‘Ugh, we gotta sleep. We have to be up at eight,’ Lyanna tells him, standing up. He lets go of her hand, and she realizes that he’s been holding it all this time. Her wrist is sweaty from it.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says, looking oddly sheepish. ‘I was… yeah, early morning, technically. Night, Lya.’

‘G’night, Jaime,’ she tells him, smiling. ‘Oh hey, let me get you something to wear, that shirt looks uncomfortable.’

‘Wait, you have my clothes here?’ he asks her, following her into the tiny room.

Lyanna shrugs. ‘You’re the one who brought them over. I have this weird sweater jersey and this football shirt.’

‘What’s that?’ he asks, pointing at a Rolling Stones T-shirt near her bed. ‘Hey, isn’t that my shirt?’

‘No,’ Lyanna says resolutely. ‘That’s mine.’

‘Pretty sure that was mine, Lyanna,’ Jaime says, grabbing his sweatpants out of the drawer.

‘Hey, remember when you were a pretentious asshole and didn’t wear fucking sweatpants,’ Lyanna can’t help but snort.

Jaime blushes a little, she thinks, but he turns away, like always. ‘Can we get over that, please?’

‘Probably the biggest reason I didn’t sleep with you when we were dating,’ Lyanna errantly tells him, unzipping her dress from the side.

‘Lyanna! Seriously?’ Jaime says.

‘What? We’ve talked about it, and we’ve _addressed our issues._ Now we can joke about it,’ she says. ‘More explicitly than we used to. Now shoo, lemme change.’

As he grumbles his way out of here, Lyanna takes a moment to remember his fancy ass velvet crimson-colored pajamas, and giggles loudly.

‘I know you’re thinking about them, and you need to stop!’ Jaime calls out from her common room.

‘I’m sorry, but red fucking velvet,’ Lyanna says. ‘Not exactly panty-wetting material man.’

‘Fuck you!’

‘Sorry, you’re late!’

He sticks his head in through her door while she’s putting her shirt on, and sticks his tongue out. The Jaime Lannister of last year would have never fucking done that.

‘Too late for that too, if you get my gist,’ Lyanna laughs, and as he throws his shirt at her, she jumps into bed.

‘That’s it, you’re going to sleep?’ he asks, standing at her doorway. His shirt is askew, and she can see his collar bone peek out.

‘Yep,’ Lyanna tells him, getting comfy under her sheets. ‘I love my bed, god.’

‘You’re just going to banish me to the couch like we’re a disgruntled married couple having a weekly fight?’ he asks.

‘Yep,’ she tells him, burrowing in. ‘And don’t even think about trying to get in here with those blocks of ice you call feet, because I will literally knee you in the balls.’

Jaime sighs, and she can hear his feet against her carpet as he walks away. ‘You can’t always get what you want, I suppose.’

‘Goodnight, Jaime,’ Lyanna says, forcefully, but she’s smiling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh okay, so here goes! i will admit, a lot of this chapter was resolution for a bunch of things - mainly because i'd like to move on to the next plotline, and too many issues are hard to connect and address. a lot of comments on the last chapter were pretty angry over lyanna's behavior, and just to remind everyone, there's a particular reason she's being written this way. i draw inferences as to her character from what we know of lyanna in the books and the tv show, and a lot of it from what her brother's and family was like, so y'know. don't hate the playa, just hate the game.
> 
> anyway's, i'm super happy to receive constructive criticism, and i love to know what you guys think! thank you so much for all your responses, and i look forward to reading more from you all!


	7. i am the passenger (and i ride and i ride)

Shockingly, Lyanna doesn’t feel like biting a bullet when she wakes up. Most of it might have something do with not being hung over after a really long time, but she’d like to think it’s because of the good choices she made the day before.

‘That’s my shirt, I know it,’ Jaime says, blearily blinking at her Rolling Stones shirt.

‘Nope,’ Lyanna’s learnt that full denial is often the only way these things work in her favor. ‘You’re wrong. Now get off my couch and go get dressed – we have our fight today. You know? The one we’ve been practicing for this entire semester? The one -’

‘I know,’ Jaime says, with little excitement.

‘Nice to know you’re looking forward to it,’ Lyanna deadpans, getting her dress ready. She’ll have to change into it later and she’s debating on whether she should make the effort to walk back and change or if she can just stuff it into her duffle bag and be done with it.

‘Forgive me for my lack of excitement, good lady,’ Jaime says, groaning. ‘Your couch hath did me no favors in the night.’

‘Never asked you to sleep on it either,’ Lyanna tells him, eyeing the duffle bag. Who really cares if there’s creasing, right?

Jaime pushes her. ‘Not today, you lazy fuck, not today. You can walk back.’

Sometimes she hates how well he knows her.

He’s rubbing his eyes, and his hair is all mussed, and they’re both in the clothes they slept in, all warm and languid, and for a second there he reminds her of when they were dating, and how adorable she found his owlish blinking in the morning. That hasn’t exactly changed even now, but now she can poke him in the ribs instead of kissing him, and honest to God prefer his reaction – he squeals, colors slightly from the sound he’s just emitted, then gives her an angry disgruntled look.

‘Takes a lot of balls to tickle someone who knows you’re ticklish too,’ Jaime tells her.

‘I will scream so loud your fucking ears will bleed,’ Lyanna tells him, warningly.

Jaime grins. ‘You wouldn’t do that to your best friend, would you?’

‘Hey, if my brother isn’t spared, you won’t be either,’ Lyanna laughs. The warning seems to work though, because Jaime seems to step away and put the thought of tickling her out of mind.

He’s off to his own dorm to change, and Lyanna’s left picking up the pillow and blanket he’s left like a fucking heathen on her couch, and there’s a trickling feeling of emptiness inside of her. She doesn’t know why it happens to her, why she gets sad so easily. She woke up happy. She was fine, until he left, until she started thinking of all the things she needs to do and all the people she needs to see and her family and her brother.

Lyanna shakes her head and goes to shower.

When she’s dressed and has her hair firmly pinned up against her scalp, she collects what she needs, grabs her sword and hightails it over to Jaime’s. Except while she’s heading into the boys’ dorms, some chick passing by yells out, ‘What a scandal! A lone lady walking towards the men’s quarters.’

Lyanna couldn’t care less at this point, so she yells back, ‘Go eat a cock, bitch!

She’s suddenly so upset with everything, and she can’t figure out why. After she almost screams in frustration at the air molecules around her, Lyanna tries a little introspection and asks herself why she’s so annoyed by everything. Her brain replies with the rather astute, _BECAUSE._

Lyanna concludes that she will get her period soon, and this is all because of hormones. She then takes great pleasure in banging at Jaime’s door.

‘Oh, hello light of my life,’ Domeric grins at her when he pulls the door open. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Lyanna will admit that he’s really working the beard.

‘Hello, my love,’ Lyanna grouses at him. There’s something about Domeric that can never keep you quite so upset. Maybe that’s why Jaime has such a nice disposition about him whenever he wakes up.

‘Can I say, you are positively glowing,’ he tells her, before taking the most overt glance at her ass. ‘Those breeches are really nice for the packaging, gotta say.’

If nothing else, Lyanna tells herself in morose anti-feminism, she at least has her looks. ‘What can I say, I got it from my…dad? Never mind, that’s just gross. Where’s Jaime?’

‘Probably putting product in his hair like a fucking -’ he looks sheepish. ‘Accidental misogyny, whoops. Sorry, Lya. He’s putting product in his hair like a fucking…Lannister. Yeah.’

‘Fuck you, Bolton,’ Jaime comes out of his room, shaking his hair around his face. Lyanna looks at him in thinly veiled envy – his fucking hair looks like he stepped of the set of a shampoo commercial. ‘This is all natural. You know what kind of people use hair product?’

‘I use hair product,’ Lyanna seethes at him. ‘You wanna complete that sentence?’

‘I was going to say smart, beautiful people use hair product,’ Jaime says, but he’s smirking at her, and Lyanna wishes that she’d worn heels solely so she could chuck one at him.

‘Come the fuck on then, good Ser,’ she says, trying to muster up the enthusiasm she had for the fight. ‘Reporting time is ten.’

They get there five minutes late, but Drogo pops up only after they’ve reached there, so they feel relatively okay about it.

‘You two ready for this? Remember the choreography?’ he asks them, in that overtly threatening way of his. ‘Because if you don’t -’

‘We do,’ Lyanna says, immediately.

‘Good. You’re on in an hour. I suggest you run through it once now, so you can take a bit of a break,’ Drogo suggests.

As they go through the motions, Lyanna’s suddenly glad that they practiced this so much – she barely has to concentrate on the motions, they’re both flying through their parries and their footwork. It isn’t a long choreography – the swords are too heavy to be carried on for too long of a time, but it goes on for almost a half hour, and she finds herself sweaty after they’re done with their last practice.

‘Man, I’m going to have to shower again,’ she grouses, gulping down water. The sun is blooming down with its best _fuck you_ impression, and in a half hour it is only going to get worse.

‘Same,’ Jaime says. ‘So, saw you dancing with Greyjoy last night.’

‘What the fuck,’ Lyanna says. ‘You were there? Where the fuck were you? I was legit looking for you.’

‘I was there briefly. Like, very briefly,’ he tells her. ‘Like, a split second briefly.’

‘That is so creepy, holy shit,’ Lyanna says, drinking the fake tasting ale they’re giving out. ‘That’s like stalking.’

‘Don’t avoid the conversation,’ Jaime tells her. ‘You planning on, well, going out with him?’

Lyanna hasn’t really thought about that. ‘I haven’t really thought about it. Yeah, it wasn’t awkward or anything, which was cool. And he is like, hot. I don’t know yet, we’ll see.’

‘Huh,’ Jaime says, which, okay. She expected more, but she’s not sure what exactly she expected.

‘Oh, hey, how was hearing Maege and Domeric going at it,’ she starts when she finally can’t bear the weird silence.

‘Oh God,’ he groans. ‘It was traumatizing. I went out, holy shit.’

‘Was there cringy dirty talk? You have to tell me if there was cringy dirty talk, that’s like a best friend deal,’ she asks.

‘I left before the dirty talk,’ he says, and she makes a disappointed sound. ‘But I sadly did not escape before hearing them start screaming.’

‘Yeah, Maege can really get loud,’ Lyanna says. Now she sort of feels bad for him, because Lyanna had once bunked on Maege’s couch back in freshman year, while Maege had fucked this transferring senior. They’d gone at it all night, three distinct times, and in the morning, both Maege and her boy had looked exhausted. Except so had Lyanna, who had at three distinct times tried to suffocate herself with the pillow she’d been given.

‘ – Lyanna?!’ he’s saying, and she suddenly comes back to the present.

‘Sorry about that, just got lost in thought,‘ she says. ‘Also, hey, no ditching me at tonight’s dinner. This week has had a shitty start, I don’t want anything to get worse, okay?’

‘You got it,’ he tells her, before he stands up. ‘Let’s go, we’re on in five.’

‘Hey Jaime,’ she says, just to fuck with him. ‘Remember that time when we were practicing this very fight and your hand got super sweaty and the sword slipped from your hand and you looked like a fucking idiot?’

‘I hate you so much,’ he tells her, very seriously, before he picks up his sword. Still, she sees him wipe his palm discreetly on his breeches, and cackles.

They have Brienne and her partner from junior year finish up and come out where they’re waiting, and Brienne looks absolutely exhausted, but also distinctly happier than Lyanna has seen her. Brienne gives her a quick hug, and shakes hands with Jaime, wishes them both good luck – and then they’re on.

There’s more people gathered to watch than Lyanna expected, and as soon as they get into the circle they’re supposed to be fighting in, the crowd adjusts to surround them. It’s a slightly daunting thing, but then Lyanna’s always gotten over her fears by staring them in the face. She raises her eyebrows at Jaime, and he nods at her, and she knows they’re going to do just fine. Drogo announces that they may begin, and she throws the first attack.

They’ve tailored this according to their stamina – they start off slow, with more effort on calculated foot work and less use of arm strength, before they start really getting into it. And then they’re swinging, so hard that each has to dig their feet into the ground to avoid falling. Except it’s only near the end where they’re going fast again that Jaime’s foot slips on the grass, and the sword swings much faster than anticipated. Lyanna throws her own sword against it faster than she was supposed to, and just to ensure something worse doesn’t happen, she throws her left hand against the hilt of the sword coming at her. She feels the pain, but glancing down she knows it isn’t way too bad – at the most a deep cut, and she refuses to let this fuck up the performance she’s worked so hard for. Immediately, she steps into the next position, parrying, holding her left hand under her right to ensure no one puts a stop to things too soon. She can feel the blood, thick and sticky as if drips down to her wrist and she’s glad the tunic she has is long-sleeved enough to be absorbing it. She sets her jaw, and keeps going.

Although it’s barely five more minutes till the end, her hand is in agony by the time she blocks Jaime’s last blow and pushes up. In fact, it takes a small yell out of her to push her sword upwards and push him back – from both the effort needed and the pain. As soon as they’re done and go to bow, Lyanna shoves her left hand into her pocket, thanking the tailor for actually putting in pockets.

People are applauding, cheering, screaming and hooting, and for a few good moments, Lyanna simply forgets the pain – the adrenaline, the happiness, the job well done. Now that she’s done, she can look around and see the people she knows gathered around – Brandon’s cheering for louder than anything or anyone, looking so proud of her, she can’t look past him. Brienne and Dany are both close by as well, and she spots Maege waving at her. She looks over at Jaime, and he looks as exhausted as she feels, completely gone, but he’s also grinning in a way she’s only seen when he’s completely happy.

And there, there in the corner, she can see the rest of her family – Ned, who looks cheerful for once, and Benjen who’s yelling for her, and her father, who’s isn’t exactly approving but not exactly disapproving either. And then her eye catches Rhaegar’s, who’s standing there like an absolute creep – not smiling, not cheering, not yelling – just looking at her, with a small curve of his mouth that might just be the light. And for a moment, Lyanna thinks he might just actually _see_ her – without judgment, or any preconceived notions – and she isn’t sure what she wants right then, but when she thinks about this moment later, she thinks if he was just within her reach, she would have kissed him.

She nods at him, and then Jaime’s sort of hugging her and picking her up at the same time, and she’s genuinely too happy to tell him that they’re not exactly supposed to be hugging after a choreographed sword fight. They’re laughing, and then someone blows the horn, and that’s definitely their signal to head back.

The ache in her hand feels a hundred times worse now that she’s walking back in, and she’s clenching her teeth, smiling at Drogo when he laughingly pats them both on the back.

‘Good work you two,’ he says, his hit enough to almost throw them. ‘I knew you’d do great. Guess who gets extra credit!’

He’s yelling, which always confuses Lyanna, so she haltingly says, ‘Us?’

‘You guys!’ He booms, hitting them on the back again before he walks away.

The ache in her wrist is climbing up her arm in a line of silken burning. ‘Jesus Christ that was-’

‘Amazing, right?’ asks Jaime. ‘God, let’s go get a drink, I think I saw Tyrion out.’ He still looks exhilarated, looks so bloody happy, she can’t bring herself to bring up the injury. She’s had worse, right? She’s definitely had worse. She’ll just keep her hand in her pocket, where it belongs for now, and then beg off later, in a little while.

‘Lyanna?’ Rhaegar’s voice makes both their heads turn. With her bleeding hand and the fading adrenaline she has no fucks left to give for Rhaegar Targaryen.

‘Yeah?’ she asks, pointedly. She still isn’t sure about the whole staring at her thing.

‘I need your help for a second,’ he says. ‘Actually, for a while, if you wouldn’t mind.’

Lyanna’s really confused, and she wants to beg off with the bleeding hand, but she’d rather not ruin Jaime’s mood, so she grits her teeth and gives the best smile she can. ‘Sure. Jaime, why don’t you go ahead with your brother, I’ll meet you there.’

As far as ruining his mood goes, Jaime looks like Rhaegar just took a shit on everything he likes. ‘Sure. I’ll order some ale for you. Rhaegar, you’re welcome to come if you’d like.’

‘Thanks,’ Rhaegar says, in his classic stoic stick-up-my-ass way. Lyanna wonders if all rich men are just born this way, or if someone teaches it to them. ‘Lyanna? Shall we?’

Lyanna wants to die. ‘Sure. See you, Jaime. Can you take my sword, please?’

He grabs it, grunts and turns to walk away. As she follows Rhaegar out of the tent from the other end, she wonders what exactly she did to piss off the universe so much.

‘What can I help you with, Rhaegar?’ she asks him.

‘You can come with me to the university clinic,’ he tells her. He only stops walking when he sees she’s stopped walking. ‘Come on then, I didn’t ask you to help by just standing there.

There’s a small smile on his face, like he’s humoring her, that’s pissing her off. She didn’t mean it; she’ll take the stick-up-my-ass face any day. ‘I don’t need to go to the clinic,’ she says, but she starts walking.

‘I didn’t say you did, did I?’ he asks her, perfect eyebrow in the air. Lyanna’s pretty sure her eyebrows have just frizzed at this point, just for that extra fuck you. ‘I asked for your help to walk with me to the clinic. Which, considering the growing red spot near your pocket, you must have been considering yourself.’

Lyanna looks down and sure to his word, she looks like she got stabbed with a kebab skewer. ‘Fuck, when did you see this?’

‘When did I see you slice your hand? When it happened? I was watching, like everyone else? Just focusing more on the actual swordplay than Lannister’s golden locks flying in the wind,’ he says, extremely serious. 

‘Is that a joke?’ she asks. ‘Please make an actual joke face when you make a joke, you look like a sociopath.’

‘My people are just Nordic,’ he says, still serious. ‘Stoic features, it runs in the blood.’

‘Who in your pure-blood English family was bloody Nordic?’ she asks him, wincing when she squeezes.

‘My great, great aunt twice removed on my mother’s side,’ he says, looking her straight in the eyes. ‘Show me your hand.’

With a sigh, Lyanna offers it up, and okay, the cut isn’t too deep, but it is long, almost spanning her entire palm, and although the bleeding has lessened, it still hurts like fuck all. ‘Maybe this is left over trauma from freshie week,’ she says, ‘but when you said show me your hand, I heard show me your rack.’

That makes him laugh, just a little, silent and like he didn’t quite expect it. ‘I think my mother raised me better than to use that sort of terminology.’ He’s holding her hand, and she hates how warm his hands her. She usually like men’s hands because they’re warm, and large, and feel nice when they’re spanning her waist – and that’s not a line of thinking she should be taking, she should definitely not be thinking about how his hands would feel as they hold her by the waist –

‘Ow,’ she says, morosely, when he pokes the wound a little. She’s stayed silent for a lot worse, but she really wants him to stop holding it. ‘It’s not that bad anymore. In fact, I don’t think it needs stitches either.’

‘Sure, let’s just let you die of infection,’ he says, pulling her sleeve down a little and closing her fist on it. It sends a spasm of pain through her arm, but she does it without a sound. And although she fucking hates herself for it, she still feels the slightest bit of disappointment when he lets her hand go.

_Fuck me and my fucking ovulating period, holy fuck,_ she thinks.

‘I don’t know, man, I think you definitely use that kind of vocabulary when you’re high,’ she tells him, resuming their trek. The clinic isn’t that far off from the main quad, solely because of that one time last year during R-Week when some kid set someone on fire as a sacrifice, but they’re still almost a block away. ‘Like, I bet you say booty _ironically._ ’

He gives her a pointed look, but then it seems that even the great Rhaegar Targaryen can’t get over her humor, because he laughs again, shakes his head. ‘I do not say _booty_ ironically.’

‘I’m pretty sure you do, actually,’ she tells him, smiling. The conversation’s helping take her mind off the whole hand thing, and she’s pretty grateful she didn’t have to make this trek alone.

‘You must have a good eye,’ she tells him after a few moments. ‘I don’t think anyone else noticed it happen.’

‘It was a very riveting choreography,’ he answers. ‘I couldn’t keep my sight away, good lady.’

‘Not you too, Jesus,’ she says, but she’s pretty happy with the compliment.

‘No, it was brilliant, really,’ he says. ‘Much better than what I did in the class.’

‘You did this too? I didn’t even know you took medieval history,’ Lyanna laughs, strangely shocked and not surprised at all at the same time.

‘You know Drogo,’ he says, ‘didn’t get much choice. Yeah, I did it with Arthur Dayne, who is-’

‘Like the most brilliant fencer ever,’ Lyanna almost shouts. ‘I mean, not that I’m sure you aren’t good, but. Well.’

‘He’s the most brilliant fencer ever?’ Rhaegar asks with a grin. ‘You’re right, he was much better than me. But I did get the highest grades in this class, so, technically.’

‘I’ll bet Arthur Dayne couldn’t do _that_ ,’ she says, smiling back. ‘And look at that, we’re here. My hands stopped bleeding, you know, so, maybe this wasn’t all that necessary.’

‘Get in there,’ he says, smiling.

‘Fine, fine,’ she tells him. ‘Thanks for forcing me to come I guess, although I was going to do it on my own anyways, but you know.’

‘Thanks?’ he says. ‘I got it, you’re welcome. And I’ll keep you company inside. Just in case you decide a drink is more important.’

‘Oh my God, don’t you have more important things to do? Like, your job?’ she teases, but she’s genuinely curious as to why he’s spending time with her at a doctor’s of all places.

‘Not really,’ he says, straight-faced again so she can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Damn it.

‘Fine, I hope you enjoy the smell of alcohol wipes,’ she says, following him in as he pushes the door open for her. ‘Thanks.’

They don’t talk about much while the doctor declares that she doesn’t need stitches and instead just scrubs her wound quite viciously with the alcohol wipes. She winces at the sudden burn – no matter how many times she’s had a wound cleaned with alcohol, the burn always catches her off guard – and then he’s bandaging it, far more inconspicuously than she thought he would.

‘Wow, this doesn’t even look that bad anymore,’ she tells the doctor, who grunts at her, and walks away mumbling. ‘Huh, clearly he hates R-Week more than I do.’

‘Clearly,’ Rhaegar says, but he’s sort of smiling again.

‘So, again, thank you,’ she tells him, walking out. ‘For forcing me to go seek help, and then for keeping me company.’

‘Hey, I didn’t mind at all,’ he answers.

‘Yeah, I’m just going to change out of this sweaty shit and try to do something with my hair that I’m sure has exploded in this bun,’ she says for the lack of anything else. Rhaegar isn’t really saying anything, and Lyanna realizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s taken her up on that offer of genuine friendship she offered all sleepless in the library. Maybe he doesn’t have a lot of no judgment friends, and he wants the cynical sophomore with terribly unhealthy eating habits and a nice sword.

‘You wanna walk in the general direction of my dorm while I do the same?’ she asks him, with vague trepidation. She’s not sure what response she’ll get. Maybe she’s just seeing things where they don’t exist.

‘I would quite enjoy walking in the general direction of your dorms, good lady,’ he says, and there’s that smile she thinks he should have all the time. 

They set off, and her dorm really isn’t that far, so they talk about things here and there - she asks him more about his fighting style, what hand he prefers, whether he’s participating or anything. And he in turn tells her about how she’s fixed that gaping hole in her defense on her left side, how he’s doing the melee because Targaryen men always do the melee, how he prefers playing music, and how he enjoys opera.

‘Dude, Carmen’s Habanera is amazing though,’ she tells him. ‘But the aria Diana Damrau does as queen of the night? Brilliant. Unreal. Unreal.’

‘You like opera?’ he looks very pleasantly surprised. ‘You know what, I’ll take it in stride.’

‘What, I don’t look like the kind of girl who likes opera?’

‘Honestly, no, but hey, Stark family, so someone must have forced you to go. But you actually enjoy it, from what I can tell.’

‘I do,’ she says. ‘But really, what kind of music do you think I like?’

He sighs, like he’s thinking. ‘You seem to be a rolling stones kind of girl.’

‘I proudly am,’ she tells him. ‘But just because Miss You had a crazy riff doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate Ode to Joy.’

‘Point taken, my lady,’ he says. ‘I’ve always preferred what they did with Dead Flowers. Mick Taylor with the stones? That’s another level.’

‘Look at you, Mr. Onion,’ she says, smiling. ‘You don’t give off the stones guy vibes.’

‘What can I say, I proudly am,’ he tells her as they walk up to her dorm. ‘So hey, what a coincidence that we meet right here.’

‘Truly, I am shooketh,’ Lyanna says, grinning. ‘Seeing as you’re here at such a perfect time, why don’t you come in? We just had warm bread come out of the oven, still steaming, and we have some lovely stew, with freshly hunted rabbit -’

‘If you’ve got those heart attack inducing chips, I shall require no more of you,’ he says as they step into her room.

‘Forgive the mess, I couldn’t care less about cleaning in the morning,’ she tells him, ripping off her hair clip and letting it explode around her head. ‘What’s the verdict on the hair – needs a straighten?’

 

‘No, looks better this way,’ he says. ‘A bit wild.’

‘A bit wild?’ she repeats, and she thinks there’s a slight hint of red on his porcelain cheekbones. ‘Eh, I’ll take it.‘

 She’s genuinely glad there’s no underwear lying around, because she thinks that would be the line she draws with a new friend. Really. She doesn’t want him to look at one of her bras, and then think about her – she doesn’t.  Instead, she throws a bag of chips at him, and a warm smoothie she’s had sitting there for a while now.

‘Enjoy,’ she says. ‘The couch is great, just throw the blanket and pillow down, whoever’s using it tonight can make their damn bed again. I’ll just go change. If you want to talk, just holla at me. The door’s pretty thin.’

As she shuts the door, she hears rustling, and then him calling out, ‘get a lot of night visitors?’

‘Are you implying I am a harlot, good ser?’ she calls out. ‘Nah, my brother stays with me some nights for now, and Jaime was here last night.’

There’s no answer, but she hears the chips wrapper making sounds everywhere, so she knows he must be occupied. She can’t imagine what he gets to eat, but if the whole salad thing she saw at the restaurant that day was a regular occurrence, Lyanna isn’t sure how he hasn’t simply killed himself by this point.                       

She manages to get her extremely well fitted sports bra off and a normal one on, before she starts tugging on her dress to fall into place. After five minutes of intense pulling and fidgeting, her head emerges from the hole meant for her head, and she puts her arms through, feeling more exhausted than she did after her fight. She pulls the door open, and then heads back in to the mirror.

Her eyebrows look like tiny ant hills, and she spends a full minute penciling them, giving up when she thinks she’s only made them look a bit like giant caterpillars. She gives a longing look to her makeup box, and then wonders who in the ever loving fuck has the time to contour, ever, and simply throws some red lipstick on. If nothing else, Lyanna swears she will die wearing lipstick.

‘Christ, I hate being a girl,’ she tells him, walking out. ‘Gimme a chi– wow. Did you finish that entire packet of chips?’

He looks pretty guilty, and she’s pretty sure he’s blushing. ‘I’ll replace them.’

‘Dude, no, this is like, super sad,’ she tells him. ‘Just, have it, like, have it all. Seriously. This is more dire than I expected.’                                          

‘You look lovely,’ he tells her after a while.

‘Thank you,’ she says, leaning against her table, fiddling with her bandage. ‘Can I ask you something serious?’

‘Go ahead,’ he says, looking curious.

‘Are you friends with me because you want a non-judgmental friend, or because I carry cheap but delicious food on my person and property?’ she asks, grinning by the end of it.

He relaxes. ‘The former, mostly, but I will say the latter is a very enjoyable benefit.’

‘You know you can just, like, buy this shit, right?’ she tells him, kindly. She kind of feels bad for him. ‘It doesn’t have to be a certain way, no matter what we tell ourselves. It’s your life. You can just go out and eat oil loaded chips whenever you want.’

‘I know,’ he says. He looks too melancholic to tolerate, and suddenly Lyanna’s pretty bummed at having brought in this conversation.

‘Well until you have the iron will power needed to break away from the health industry con artist expert that put your family on that diet,’ she says, ‘I magnanimously offer you my amazing food. As your non-judgment friend, I say you drink that smoothie like there’s no tomorrow. Chug it like its beer and you just turned legal.’

‘God, I do remember the day,’ Rhaegar says, but he’s not quite suicidal looking, so Lyanna will take that as a win.

There’s only so many things you can say to someone while they chug down your smoothie without breathing, so Lyanna basically chills out where she is, instead goes to wear a pair of earrings as some semblance of effort. Except she has one ready to hook in when she realizes they’re the ones Robert gave her during their first few months, and although she’s not exactly heartbroken about the whole Robert thing, she doesn’t want too many reminders. Instead she exchanges that one for the obnoxious and cheap ones she found at the dollar store, which she actually liked.

‘Why not the first ones?’ Rhaegar asks.

‘Huh? Oh, Robert got me those,’ she tells him. She doesn’t think there’s a need to hide that exactly.

‘Wouldn’t you prefer wearing them then?’ he asks her again.

Lyanna sighs. ‘Well, seeing as we recently parted ways, I don’t really want to be wearing them quite so soon.’

‘Ah. I’m sorry,’ he says, looking constipated again.

‘You have got to stop making that face, you look positively diseased, man,’ she tells him. There’s an opened pack of cereal that she occasionally likes to chew on like a heathen, and she stuffs a fist in to get some cocoa puffs. ‘Neither of us are particularly sad. It wasn’t even acrimonious, more – anticlimactic, really. But you know, the whole earrings thing was such a fiasco even when he got them, God, we had a fight -’

‘About earrings?’ Rhaegar asks, confused. ‘Wait was it like that restaurant payment thing?’

‘Oh, yay, another witness to the soap opera that was my previous relationship,’ she says. She’s suddenly craving for alcohol, even though it’s barely afternoon. Ale isn’t really going to cut it, she wants at least one glass of something strong. She bends to get her cabinet, and finds a remaining quart in a bottle of Jack Daniels. Amen. ‘And, I mean, sort of? It’s just. So basically, he and I were walking down the shop lane, you know the one, and we come across Swarovski, right? And I see these beautiful earrings, that look exactly like their swan logo, but they’re jewel encrusted. And I loved them, right up my alley. But I’m coming back from horse-riding, so I don’t have my card with me, and so I tell him, _I’m going to buy these because I’ve always wanted to buy them._ – Oh hey, you want some?’

He takes the proffered bottle, then looks around for a glass. Lyanna can’t find any, apart from the unwashed mug that looks like it’s becoming sentient, and gives him a shot glass with London written on it. ‘Okay, then what?’

She takes a seat on the other end of her sofa. ‘So then, after this, he goes, cool, cool, you should buy them. And I can’t tell you, I’ve always wanted to buy those kinds of earrings, and my father would never let me – so I was excited. Except that night, he got them for me.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m also very confused,’ Rhaegar asks, looking like she’ll whack him. He’s poured the shot glass and offers it to her.

‘I don’t know if you’ll get it, but. I wanted to get them myself. On my own. That way, when I would look at them, I’d think of me. Now, whenever I look at them, I think of him,’ she tells him, ‘Have you ever had that happen to you? Something you loved so much and wanted to be just yours – you can’t even look at it without thinking of someone? Why do you have to share everything with someone? Why can’t you just have certain things to yourself?’

As she throws back the shot, he says, ‘My Bentley.’

She coughs. ‘I’m sorry? Also, I hope you’re not judging me for the early drinking. I personally think the occasion calls for it.’

‘No worries at all. And like you said, no judgment zone. Although I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I judged you while drinking myself, so,’ he says, pouring himself a shot. ‘I wanted a Bentley ever since I was in high school. My parents, of course, don’t like showy things – old money, you can relate – but I was never allowed to get one. But when I graduated university and went for my Phd, I realized I could do it. It was such a liberating feeling, just knowing I could do it. And I was waiting, for when I felt right. Except I’d told Elia about it, and the next thing I know, it was standing in front of my house. And I loved her for it, I did, but I just. Wanted it to myself.’

‘This is sad,’ Lyanna says as he drinks his shot. ‘We’re sad. It’s not even two pm and we’re sad drinking in my dorm.’

‘Is there any right time to be sad drinking in your dorm?’

‘Yes, between ten pm and one am,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Tried and tested, demographics agree wholly.’

‘Is that all you’re going to eat?’ he laughs, looking at her box of cereal.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she tells him. ‘I keep those for long nights where I forget my existence and can’t sleep, and then I basically inhale them.’

He laughs, like he always does: like he doesn’t quite expect to. She finds it endearing and sad in equal measures, and the only thing it achieves is make her want to make him laugh more.

‘You’re funny,’ he tells her.

‘I’m really not,’ she says. ‘I’m cynical and slightly suicidal, you just have a fucked up sense of humor.’

He scoff-laughs again, but he seems pretty comfortable sitting on her couch, and Lyanna isn’t quite sure on how to deal with that. He’s fitting into a space in her life that she wasn’t even quite sure was there. There’s no particular box she can think of labeling him in her life, and for once she thinks that maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should just chill the fuck out, and enjoy the friendship.

‘As fun as this is, I think we should go now. I did tell Jaime I’d be around soon, and it has been more than an hour,’ she says, getting up. Her hair is prickling at the back of her neck again, and she really is getting it sheared short. ‘God, I’m getting a pixie cut.’

‘Of course,’ Rhaegar says, standing up. She sees him shoot a sad look at the empty bottle of her smoothie, before he places it and the wrapper in her bin. ‘Really? A pixie?’

‘Oh God, not you too,’ she says, groaning. ‘I’m so sick of everyone telling me how long hair is a sign of beauty, and femininity, and _fertility_ , like fuck that shit, do you know how much effort goes into this shit -’

‘Lyanna!’ Rhaegar says, and she stops to look at him. His tone may have been harsh, but he’s smiling, eyebrows raised, just looking at her with mirth in his eyes. ‘I was actually going to say that it sounds like a good idea.’

‘….are you serious?’ she asks, sort of disbelieving.

He raises his eyebrows even more. They look like perfect mountains, sculpted into his face.

‘Do you get your eyebrows done?’ she spits out before she can help it. ‘Oh, shit, uh, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.’

To her immense surprise and pleasure, his cheeks color. She’s very thankful for how pale he is, in a moment that catches her off guard. She wonders if his cheeks will be warm, if she moves to cup his face in her palms.

‘Well,’ he says, looking away. Then he laughs, short and staccato, louder than he has in front of her till now. ‘Oh what the hell. No judgment zone, anyways. I do get them done.’

‘Holy shit!’ Lyanna yells. ‘I was right, oh my God, I knew it. I knew no one could have perfect eyebrows like that naturally!’

‘Shh, you’ll destroy the illusion,‘ he says, wryly. ‘If you’re quite done being amused by this, would you like to go now?’

‘Sure, sure,’ she says, smirking. ‘The amount of people who would breathe sighs of relief, you have no idea.’

‘No one would believe you, trust me,’ he says, grinning. There’s a bit of mischief there that she never knew existed in him right now, and Lyanna’s wondering whether there’s even more to him all just waiting to be unburied. ‘I’m very cognizant of ensuring they always look perfect. No one even knows what my natural state is.’

‘I guess I’ll just have to satisfy myself with the knowledge of being right,’ she says as they walk out of her common area and she locks her door. ‘And let me tell you, being right is like heroin to me.’

They walk in comfortable silence, waking the route towards the terribly misshapen structure they’ve erected and called a tavern.

‘I meant it, you know,’ Rhaegar says after a while. At her questioning glance, he continues. ‘The short hair? I think a pixie cut would suit you.’

‘Pfft, how would you know?’ she asks, but she lets it show that she’s pleased by the comment.

‘I can’t be terribly sure, but I have a feeling. The things we truly feel comfortable with are the things that look best on us,’ he tells her. ‘If you genuinely like having short hair, you’ll look great in them, and you’ll pull them off the way no one really can.’

‘That’s actually a really sweet yet totally valid reason,’ she says. ‘Huh, wow.’

‘I’m glad to know you’re so shocked by my valid reasoning that you’re practically speechless,’ he tells her, smiling.

Like she’s beginning to notice though, his smile dims as soon as they enter the tavern. It’s like he reverts back to a more one-dimensional self in front of too many people, that same tight lip that he was wearing that night she went out with Robert. She doesn’t know what it is, exactly. She’d like to say she knows him a little bit now, has seen him be teasing and funny and honest and kind. Maybe it’s a Targaryen thing, she thinks, before she spots Jaime and Tyrion.

‘You wanna join us for a drink?’ she asks him.

‘No thank you, I already had one, remember?’ he says, a bit warmer than he was a second ago. ‘Two actually. The whiskey and the smoothie make a good cocktail, have to say. I’ll just head over to a few of my colleagues, talk shop I suppose.’

‘Of course,’ Lyanna says. ‘Hey, before we part ways, I’d just like to say thank you. Again. For taking me immediately to the clinic. Even though it wasn’t a big deal or anything, and -’

‘No thanks required, madam. I was rewarded generously, good lady, for your pantry was full and overflowing,’ he says, unblinking.

‘Fucking hell,’ Lyanna laughs. ‘Gotta learn that deadpan someday.’

‘You could try,’ he sniffs at her, haughtily, and she laughs louder. He gives her a genuine smile, and for a second, Lyanna feels like someone stabbed her in the kidney. ‘Can’t do that as well as my father. Well, lady Lyanna, I shall beg leave of your company.’

‘I will grant you freedom, Ser Rhaegar,’ she says, magnanimously, pushing her chin up and looking down her nose. ‘Go forth. If fate let it be, we shall meet again.’

He isn’t smiling as much anymore, but his eyes are warm. ‘See you at the feast, Lyanna.’

She throws up her bandaged hand and gives a wave, feeling the depth of his company recede from around her, and tilts her head at him. ‘See you.’

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i'm quite aware it has been while since the last update, and i am horrifically sorry for that. i had way too many college assignments to finish, and too many tests to prepare for. still, when inspiration hit me, i couldn't resist - and the last review i received that asked me to update was the straw on the camel's back. so here we go, i hope you all like this one because i stayed up writing this instead of my psych analysis report lol.
> 
> i'd love to know what you guys think about this chapter, and this story as a whole. as always, thank you for reading and thank you for your appreciation. i hope everyone who leaves a comment and a kudos gets perfect rhaegar targaryen eyebrows c: till the next one, folks, and here's hoping its soon!


	8. because the night belongs to lovers (belongs to us)

Jaime wasn’t quite happy when she finally walked up to him and Tyrion in the fake-ass bar they’ve got going, but it’s clear to him that he doesn’t have an exceptionally valid reason to be pissed, so he just gives her a miffed look. He always did get haughty when he felt hurt, but felt unjustified – Lyanna’s sort of understood that by now.

‘So guess who was a stupid fuck during the fight and got her hand cut,’ Lyanna says, brandishing her hand in the air and plopping down next to Jaime simultaneously. ‘That’s right, it was this moi.’

‘Wait, what the fuck? When the hell did that happen?’ Jaime says, grabbing her wrist and bringing it close. He’s got the slightest issue with seeing things far away, but he refuses to wear his glasses regardless.

‘Just during the fight, no big deal. Look at how tiny the bandage is,’ she says, using her other hand to flag down a glass of ale. ‘Also hello Tyrion, how are you doing.’

‘Can I get a _yee yee_ in solidarity for the pain I have been through,’ Tyrion says, sipping his ale calmly, as if he hasn’t just said _yee yee._

‘Yee yee,’ Lyanna says, sadly, and then realizes Jaime’s still sort of just holding her wrist and staring at it. ‘Dude, dude, you gotta like. Chill. It’s all fine, it was barely anything much.’

‘You’re okay?’ Jaime asks, super seriously, and okay, maybe he’s feeling guilty. ‘You should have told me, I would have come with you to the clinic.’

‘Dude, I’m great,’ she says. ‘Rhaegar sort of saw, and like came with me just to make sure it was fine. Which it was, and is.’

It’s like watching Jaime structurally decompose. ‘Well, if Rhaegar was there, sure.’

When he says nothing, Lyanna slowly says, ‘Okayyyy, well. Not a big deal, everything’s cool. You ready for tonight?’

‘I need to take a nap,’ Jaime says, letting her hand go and abruptly standing up. ‘The fight was exhausting.’

‘Pfft, what are you, a grandpa? Who takes naps?’ Lyanna laughs, but at his look she kind of deflates. ‘Sure, sure. I just got here though.’

The Jaime mutters something that sounds like, ‘not my problem.’ Then he coughs, and says, ‘but hey Tyrion’s here. You guys can catch up. I’ll see you at the feast tonight.’

‘Jesus,’ Lyanna says moving into his seat. ‘What is his problem?’

Tyrion raises his eyebrows. ‘My brother has issues, and he’s not exactly very smart in terms of figuring them out. Every time I say something vaguely complimenting towards my sister, I feel like I might develop a hernia, but clearly she took most of the intelligence on her side of the twin-distribution.’

‘Yeah, how is Cersei anyways?’ Lyanna asks. ‘Haven’t seen her around much.’

‘You haven’t heard?’ Tyrion scoffs.

‘Um, what haven’t I heard?’ Lyanna asks, sipping her ale.

‘Considering you don’t exactly look shattered at you and Robert breaking up I feel safe to tell you,’ he says, grinning. ‘Cersei’s in the mood for stag these days.’

Lyanna chokes on her ale. ‘You’re joking.’

‘I really wish I was,’ Tyrion says. ‘Like, trust me. Didn’t you see them being all gay last night at the feast?’

What was Lyanna doing at the feast last night again? Oh right, getting her life together. ‘But wait, that means. Are you serious? He couldn’t wait a day? Heck, less than twelve hours? God, I’m glad I fucking left.’

‘You’re upset?’ Tyrion asks. ‘Didn’t see that coming.’

Lyanna morosely sips her shitty ale. ‘Not so much upset about him moving on – God knows I’ve been over him for a while now. More about how it just seems like everyone’s moving on? To something? Or someone? I don’t know if that makes sense. Like, I’m just sitting here, it feels like, just waiting for something, while everyone’s actually out there, doing shit, and living it up. Even Robert and Cersei of all people, although to be honest, I’m kind of judging Cersei on this one. I thought she had good taste.’

‘Cersei likes the idea of power,’ Tyrion says. ‘That’s why I think dear old dad wasn’t quite too upset when he lost Jaime as an heir. Although it is true that she isn’t very smart about her ambitions. She always wanted the fame that comes with power; ventriloquism really isn’t her style.’

‘So what, she’s trying to suck the power from his dick? I can’t imagine she’s thinking of anything more, or long term, right?’

‘I’ve long given up on understanding what Cersei feels. She was after Rhaegar, which you already know – but perhaps she’s given up on that when there is someone far more viable right in front. Lanniscorp does like Baratheon Industries after all,’ Tyrion says.

‘Jesus, and here I am, wanting to run off and live with a few sheep in bloody Iceland,’ Lyanna says. She doesn’t quite know how to feel, only that she sort of gets Cersei but in the most radically opposite way ever.

‘Will you be fucking the sheep?’ Tyrion asks, deadpan, and Lyanna breaks out laughing.

‘I’ve missed you, man,’ she tells him. ‘You want to have something stronger than this shitty ale?’

.

After consuming more alcohol, she and Tyrion part ways, and Lyanna sort of realizes that she actually does have a GPA to maintain, so she fucks off to her dorm to study. She then proceeds to spend an hour fucking around on her phone, and then finally gets pissed and shuts it off, and proceeds to put some work in into her political science homework. She reads a bit on her IR course, but then sort of remembers she hasn’t had lunch today. Then she decides that with how hungry she is, she won’t be achieving much anyways, so she makes the walk to Jaime’s. They can have something small to snack on, since there is only an hour till the feast anyways.

Except Jaime isn’t exactly there when she gets there, sweating into the collar of her dress. Who in the holy fuck came up with collared dresses, she thinks, still knocking when Domeric opens the door.

‘Well, hello beautiful,’ he says, grinning. ‘How you doin?’

‘Oh, Domeric, you fill my heart with joy,’ Lyanna says, stepping in. He’s wearing sweatpants, and for a minute she feels like she’s dreaming – her in a period-era dress, him in fucking sweatpants. ‘I was doing shitty, then I saw you, and now I am glad to be alive.’

‘It’s always great to be of service to you, Lya,’ he winks at her. ‘So what’s up then, you hear to check on Jaime?’

‘Yeah, he told me he needed a nap,’ she says.

‘He did sleep for a bit, I think,’ Domeric says, planting himself on the sofa. ‘Then he fucked off saying he needed to do something? I don’t know, I don’t really listen to what he says most of the time.’

Lyanna’s very impressed with Domeric’s selective healing. ‘Huh. That’s weird.’ She tries calling him, but his phone’s off too, which is. A bit weird.

‘Is he getting laid or something?’ Lyanna asks, because wow. Okay. She didn’t know everyone she knows was getting laid, but cool.

‘Probably. The freshies do get antsy this time of the year,’ Domeric says. ‘Why don’t you grab a beer and sit down. We never really hang.’

‘That is true, to be honest,’ Lyanna says, trying to desperately erase the image of Jaime with some freshie from her head. She almost shudders, then grabs a beer and settles down next to him on the sofa. ‘You know what, you’re right, we don’t really hang apart from the whole flirting-that-means-nothing and whenever we run into each other.’

‘True that though,’ Domeric says. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘So,’ Lyanna says after they’ve both had some beer that isn’t shitty ale, ‘you and Maege, huh?’

‘Dude, no, it’s not like that,’ he tells her, grinning. ‘Mormont’s a cool chick, I’ll give her that – also really fucking on in the sheets, but she isn’t exactly into going steady, you know? I can respect that, cause I relate.’

‘I don’t know, you guys seemed to get along quite well,’ Lyanna says.

‘See that’s the thing, people usually write both of us of as the quippy, horny side friends,’ he says. ‘We don’t exactly exude more personality, so I guess it’s easy for people to think we’d get along. It makes for great sex, don’t get me wrong, but we sort of need more to actually be with someone, you know?’

There and then Lyanna feels hit by a strange sort of embarrassment about how accurate Domeric’s statement is. She has sort of written him and Maege off as that, and Lyanna’s sort of shocked by how self-aware Domeric of all people is, and sort of ashamed by how shocked she is at that.

‘Wow,’ she says, at a loss for anything else. ‘Dude, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way. Which I’m sure I have, considering that.’

‘Hey, psychology class did it for me,’ Domeric says, smiling. ‘And hey, it’s cool, it really is. At least you got what I was saying.’

‘To not writing people off,’ Lyanna says, tilting her beer bottle towards him so he can clank it.

‘You know, considering everyone’s gotten laid, and you just broke up, my advice is you should get laid,’ Domeric says. ‘Maege did tell me she was going to have a threesome today with some Frey guy, but hey maybe what they need there is a lady instead of a dude, if you catch my drift.’

‘Yeah, I’d rather not with a Frey, like, ever, no offence,’ Lyanna laughs. ‘But you are right, I might as well. And I think I know who I actually should fuck, to be honest.’

‘Ooh, is it moi? Am I the lucky man?’ Domeric asks, leaning into her space and batting his eyelashes. She’s sort of pissed at how long his eyelashes are. Why in the living hell do men get to have such pretty eyelashes?!

‘Sadly, not today, my love,’ Lyanna says, laughing and pushing him away. He goes down easy, laughing around the rim of the beer bottle, and Lyanna for a good second wonders if it’ll really be too weird if she fucks her best friend’s roommate.

But then again, Lyanna’s thought about fucking Domeric lots of times, but she’s sort of keeping that card for a time when she genuinely needs that shit. Sighing, she gets up. God knows where the fuck Jaime is, but that doesn’t mean Lyanna will be late. There’s going to be other people at the feast, and Lyanna knows she might as well go show her face tonight if she plans on fucking off for the rest of the week. After all, she’s kind of looking forward to all the praise for her fighting.

But her little deep conversation with Domeric here’s kind of opened her eyes a little – and she feels a bit guilty for never even making an effort to get to know the guy she constantly flirts with on a practically daily basis. Someone who has come through for her a bunch of times, and has been nothing but nice and fun to her.

‘Domeric, would you like to accompany this lonely lady to the feast,’ Lyanna asks him, swooning. ‘I know it is a lot to ask, but perhaps you could change out of those sweatpants and into those trousers that make your ass look great?’

Domeric chucks his empty bottle into a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. Lyanna has no doubt that either he or Jaime will pick a sweater or a pair of jeans up and the bottle will fall and break. ‘Of course, my fair lady. You know exactly what to say to convince me.’

She’ll give it to the man, he doesn’t take very long doing his shit. In five minutes he’s practically ready, lacing his boots and aiming for the bottle of hair gel.

‘What say you, lady Lyanna?’ he asks her, ‘Gelled back, or should I do the side part like an old-timey fuck boy?’

‘I think,’ she says, coming up near him and taking the gel out of his hands, ‘that you should let it fall onto your forehead the way it does now.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ he tells her, looking down. Sometimes Lyanna genuinely hates being a girl solely because of her height. She’s almost 5’6, and she’s still a good 6 inches smaller than he is.  

‘I will never understand why men think women like that gel shit. It makes your hair feel disgusting to be honest,’ she tells him, putting her hands on the crown of his head. She waits there for a second, then hmphs in impatience. ‘Well, let me fix it then.’

He laughs a little, but then tilts his head down. ‘Go ahead, then. I won’t wear it tonight, but only because you’re asking me not to. And because now you’ll give me your favor tomorrow.’

Lyanna grins at him, running her fingers through his hair and trying to style it. ‘Ah, quid pro quo, I see. Fine, fine, I’ll agree. Also, does Jaime know you’ve been using his shampoo kit, because there is no way your hair is this soft with that other garbage-’

‘Shush, woman, don’t you know? If you mention Jaime’s shampoo kit he just shows up out of the blue,’ Domeric says, giving her exaggerated crazy eyes.

Lyanna can’t help it, he looks so silly, she laughs loudly, her hands still in his hair. ‘Domeric, where in the world do you come up with such crazy shit?’

‘Baby, I’m just crazy for your love -’ Domeric says, tilting his head against her left arm, still trying to curl a stubborn tuft of his hair – and that’s when Jaime comes in.

For all that Lyanna hasn’t fucked Domeric, it feels like Jaime thinks she already has. He sort of just stands there and stares at them, until Domeric thankfully says, ‘Lyanna, you’ll pull it out the bloody roots at this point -’

And then she scrambles to fix it, and part it and basically just make it look nice as fast as possible.

‘I stopped by your dorm,’ Jaime says, almost accusingly. Too accusingly, Lyanna thinks, for the guy who told her he was off for a nap and then fucked off.

‘I stopped by your dorm,’ Lyanna says, just as accusingly. She isn’t sure why either of them are being defensive and weird, but Lyanna doesn’t really question these things. She just goes with them. Maybe that’s why one day, she’ll get shot and die in a ditch.

‘You’re in my dorm,’ Jaime says.

‘You weren’t here,’ Lyanna says.

‘Clearly, you didn’t perish alone,’ Jaime squints at her.

Domeric, bless his soul, does his bit – and now that Lyanna sort of knows it’s a bit, she can admit that he does it very well.

‘How could I let this goddess on earth perish alone? Jaime Lannister, if only I was as lucky as you, to warrant such a woman coming to my doorstep to find me,’ Domeric says, loudly. ‘Hey, if the freshie wasn’t good, Maege wants someone for a threesome and yours truly isn’t quite ready for that.’

‘Okay, what freshie, and did you just say threesome?’ Jaime asks.

‘Yep,’ Lyanna adds, ‘It’s with a Frey, just so you know. I personally refused on that regard. How was the freshie though?’

‘What freshie?’ Jaime asks, again.

‘The one we think you were fucking,’ Lyanna says.

‘Was she hot, bro?’ Domeric asks, winking at Lyanna. ‘Gimme all the dirty deets.’

‘I can’t believe you just said deets, what the fuck,’ Jaime says. ‘Also, no, I wasn’t fucking any freshie, Jesus, I was taking a walk.’

‘You were taking a walk?’ Lyanna asks.

‘I like to take walks,’ Jaime says, defensively. ‘Look at the trees, and the flowers, and the birds. Nature, you know.’

‘Okay,’ Domeric says, ‘sure. Lyanna and I were just about to head to the feast, so you’re obviously coming with.’

Jaime’s silent for a long moment there during which Lyanna increasingly feels more confused. ‘Yeah, of course,’ Jaime says, finally, with a sense of finality what annoys Lyanna for some reason.

Domeric talks throughout most of the trip, with Lyanna adding to it sometimes, and then briefly contemplating Jaime’s silence. Uncannily enough, it is only when she’s about to ask him why he’s so silent that Jaime actually contributes something other than a grunt.

‘Would you stop with the grunting, you sound like Robert,’ she says.

‘Don’t fucking mention that man to me,’ Jaime says, sounding like he’s chewing nails.

‘I mean, I get that you don’t like the man, and I do appreciate the support for hating my ex but,’ Lyanna starts, laughing, but then it sort of hits her – maybe Jaime heard too. Maybe Jaime heard about the Robert and Cersei thing, and she doesn’t know what it means that he probably feels shittier than she does about the whole thing.

‘I don’t fucking like that guy,’ Jaime says, the epitome of talking about what’s really bothering him.

‘Yeah, let’s not talk about that guy,’ Domeric says. ‘Because looky here, we’re finally there! I suggest we have a drink, shove a few pieces of egg rolls into our mouths and then join the dance floor.’

‘God, I do not want to fucking waltz with some weirdo,’ Lyanna says.

‘What about this weirdo, eh?’ Domeric says.

‘Well, duh,’ she laughs, high fiving him. ‘Jaime, I dare you and Domeric to dance after me, see if someone says scandal.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Jaime says, ‘let’s go to the bar.’

Domeric side eyes Lyanna with a _wow_ look, while they follow Jaime to the table masquerading as a bar.

While she sips her subpar fake-old punch, Lyanna looks around and wonders what exactly went wrong in the course of a day. She’d barely gotten her life together last night, fixed things with Jaime and shit – even Robert. Yet Robert’s off with the sister Jaime’s apparently still not over (and Lyanna’s kind of feeling jealous in this really stupid way) because, dude, she doesn’t think the sting of that one is going to fade ever.

 ‘What you thinking, buddy,’ Domeric whispers in her ear while Jaime chugs his third glass down.

‘Just like, wondering if this is rural fucking Alabama or some shit,’ Lyanna says, morose laughing into her glass. ‘I mean, it’s an offensive joke stereotype, but what can I say, I’ll burn in hell.’

‘I don’t get it, but cool,’ Domeric says, taking a bite of his roll and handing her the other half.

Lyanna’s really glad Domeric’s there. ‘Jaime, you wanna dance?’ she asks, talking over her roll. She sips her punch, but she can’t decide what’s actually more sub-par.

‘Nah, you guys go ahead,’ Jaime says, just sort of standing there, not giving another reason.

‘Okay, then,’ Lyanna says, refusing to be the kind of person who sits and wallows in misery all the damn time. ‘Domeric?’

‘My lady?’ he asks. ‘Can it be true? You’re asking for my hand?’

‘To dance, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,’ Lyanna laughs.

They put their glasses down and go onto the floor, but Lyanna can’t help but look back at Jaime.

‘Look, I know he’s your best friend, and like, I love the guy to bits, but sometimes, you really want to whack him with a bat that says _get you shit together,_ you know?’ Domeric says.

Lyanna nods. ‘I don’t know. I keep feeling like I should do something, or say something, all the while knowing that it won’t really make a difference.’

‘Look, it’s been my experience that, really, people don’t understand anything logical even if the pope stands them and says it to them. Look, it’s a pivotal moment where you get tired of your own shit, and clearly, Jaime hasn’t gotten to that level quite yet,’ Domeric tells her, matter-of-factly. ‘Someday he will, then he’ll spend a few months being like ‘oh look at that, I’m tired of my own shit, what do I do now, can I really change blah blah blah’ and then he’ll finally make an effort to turn into a human being again.’

‘Dude,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘They were right when they said R-Week really helps you discover new shit about people. Domeric, I never knew you were this emotionally developed. Like no offence dude, you used to ask me about your _gains._ ’

‘What can I say, my therapist says it’s my defense mechanism,’ he tells her, grinning.

‘You have a therapist?’ Lyanna says, ‘What the fuck?

‘Yeah, I’m also terrible at dancing, so you might want to help me out here,’ he tells her, nudging her foot with his own.

‘Jesus,’ Lyanna says, but she’s laughing after a while, just genuinely feeling good about this pocket of friendship and goodness he’s developed. She sees Robert in her periphery, dancing with God-knows who, but she doesn’t really care about that either. ‘Okay, so just count with me, right, and we’ll move with each step, then come back at three, yeah?’

After the third song ends, Domeric’s gotten pretty decent at it, and she wonders briefly where in the living fuck Jaime is. She asks as much, saying, ‘I mean, are we sure he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere?’

‘I’ll go check on him, you’re right, he’s been weird for a while man,’ Domeric says. ‘Hey, if he dies, don’t we all like, pass with A’s or something for the year?’

’Domeric!’ Lyanna laughs. ‘Also, no, I think it’s when the university burns down.’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s if someone dies, like, not lying,’ Domeric says, poking her.

She laughingly glares. ‘Go find our friend.’

He mumbles off, saying something like, I’ll be back for another dance. Lyanna basically brings herself back to the drinks table, and has the orange juice instead. And that’s when Benjen makes a beeline for her. And to be honest, Lyanna’s extremely glad to see the kid. She didn’t exactly get to spend a lot of time with him during the one month she went back for summer break, but regardless she’s missed him. They make small talk awkwardly for only a minute, before he quietly murmurs, ‘I miss you, Lyanna. It’s not the same without you.’

‘I know, brother mine,’ she says, wrapping him up in the really strong sort of hugs she knows he loves. ‘I miss you too. More than you know.’

‘Brandon’s dancing with a friend of yours,’ he tells her.

‘Ashara’s thirsty for him,’ Lyanna says.

‘Nah, something Mormont?’ he says, and oh no. Oh no. Good God, the threesome. But Lyanna highly doubts that Brendon would get down with a Frey, so maybe she doesn’t need to intervene and go all smitey-smitey like an archangel of some shit.

She talks to Benjen about his studies, after all, in a year or so, he’ll probably be coming to Illyria as well. And then Ashara comes by, going all, ‘Oh my God, is this your _brother?_ ’ And Lyanna has to smile and nod, and introduce them, hoping to God that Ashara has the self control to not like, molest her younger brother.

‘Hey, look at that, Brandon’s missing a dance partner,’ Lyanna points out when she spies him near the fruit bowl. ‘Ashara, I got you covered.’

Catelyn’s just come in, and Ashara turns her head so fast her hair slap Catelyn in the face. She covers it well, just coughs and moves to the side.

‘Thanks Lyanna,’ Ashara says, ‘you’re a real friend. Supporting me in my dick hunting.’

‘Ew,’ Lyanna and Benjen say simultaneously. Seconds later, they hear Ashara’s high pitched sugary voice say, ‘hey there Brandon, fancy finding you here!’

‘We’re at the feast, where else would he be,’ Catelyn mutters a little, and oh, right, didn’t Brandon like. Ask Catelyn to dance a bunch of times at her debutante ball? And their father’s had met once, or something. But nothing had really ever come out of it.

‘Jesus,’ Lyanna says, right when Ned shows up. ‘Hey there brother, glad to know someone isn’t out there poaching girls.’

‘Brandon’s behavior is unseemly,’ Ned says. Lyanna loves Ned, always has in her silent way, and she knows he loves her back. But sometimes the guy fucks himself over. Okay, all the time.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve danced with you, sister,’ he asks, smiling just a little. ‘May I?’

Lyanna sighs, and wonders if they’ll ever appreciate her. ‘Unfortunately, I have danced a bit too much. I need some rest. Why don’t you take Lady Catelyn here for a spin?’

Catelyn looks as shocked as Ned, but Lyanna notices the slight hint of scarlet on her cheeks. Scarlet that Ned seems to be mirroring. ‘Lya, no, don’t force the man,’ Catelyn laughs, awkwardly, but Ned’s clearly into that and immediately clears his throat.

‘Lady Catelyn, if you would do me the honor?’ he asks, holding his hand out. For a minute there, Lyanna thinks it’s 1487. Clearly, so does Catelyn, if the slightly shocked way she nods and takes Ned’s hand is any sign.

‘Well that was weird,’ Benjen says. ‘Think I can score?’

‘Do you even really want to?’ Lyanna asks. She’s pretty sure Benjen’s asexual, but you know. She’s not going to bring it up until he does.

‘Nah, I’m actually really in love with the library these guys have,’ he tells her. ‘What would I even do with the girl? What if she wants more, God forbid?’

Lyanna nods. ‘You’re absolutely fucking right, buddy.’ She’s feeling a bit okay about everything, because she’s with someone she genuinely likes, and then Domeric and Jaime come back, Jaime looking for all the world like he’s going to throw up.

‘If anyone’s pissed all the punch is gone, blame this guy,’ Domeric says, holding him up.

Lyanna does the introductions, and Domeric immediately launches into conversation with Benjen, the single most sweet gesture Lyanna’s seen from a guy – he’s asking Benjen what he wants to study, what sort of gear he likes, if he’s into video games and shit, and Benjen’s looking pretty happy, considering he was bored most of the time.

Lyanna’s just about to talk to Jaime and maybe address some issues that clearly need addressing, when her father comes into the circle.

‘Lyanna,’ he says, and she seriously needs to learn how he manages so much condescension and judgment into one name. She doesn’t want kids, but she thinks it might come in handy.

‘Father,’ she says, looking around. It’s as if Benjen and Domeric have sort of just gone into their own corner, talking about God knows what. Jaime’s not exactly the best influence around.

‘How are your studies going?’ he asks her, like he doesn’t really care about the answer.

‘Good, they’re going good,’ Lyanna says. ‘I’m excited for Law School.’

‘So you still want to do that,’ he says.

‘Yes, dad,’ she bites her inner cheek. ‘That’s why I’m a pre-law major, right.’

‘I’m Jaime,’ Jaime says, slightly slurring. _Christ._

‘Jaime Lannister?’ Rickard says, and Lyanna wants to die. She wants to die. ‘I’ve heard of you.’

‘All due respect Sir,’ Jaime says, haughty in that way he used to be, in that way Lyanna hates. ‘Who hasn’t?’

‘So you study with Lyanna?’ Rickard asks, staring at her.

‘Yes, a few courses, like the fencing one,’ Jaime says. He still sounds a bit gone.  Lyanna can’t bring herself to add anything. She’s feeling so angry, she might just cry, and she hates it completely. ‘Did you enjoy our fight this morning?’

‘It was interesting,’ Rickard says, still just looking at her. ‘I’m stunned that they let you take a fencing class as part of your Pre-Law major, Lyanna. Back in my time they didn’t have that sort of mixing.’

‘It’s a medieval history class,’ Lyanna grits her teeth, breathing deeply. She won’t cry like this. She just won’t. ‘It’s an elective.’

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘I’ll be off then. Lyanna, I expect you to be there when Benjen and I leave tomorrow. I reuse to leave him alone in Brandon’s sights.’

‘Ned will be here too,’ she says, before she can help herself.

‘Yes, but he’s a child and I don’t expect you all to be cognizant of what he’s doing,’ he says, stressing on the _you._ Lyanna fucking hates him in the moment. She’s raised Benjen, been a fucking mother to them all even though she hated every second of it. Made sure things went smoothly, yet apparently she can’t be trusted.

‘He’s seventeen,’ she says. ‘He’s not a child.’

‘Of course you would think that,’ Rickard says. ‘You’re not much older. I’ll be going now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lyanna. Goodnight.’

‘Your dad’s weird,’ Jaime says, drunkenly. ‘But not weirder than mine. God, I need a drink. You want me to get you one?’

‘No, Jaime,’ Lyanna manages. ‘I don’t need you to get me one.’

‘Cool,’ he says, walking away. For a minute, Lyanna contemplates going up to her father with a bowl of subpar punch and throwing it at him. Reminding him of all the times he’s expected her to act like an adult, all the times he’s made her grow up faster than he did the others. But she knows it won’t make a difference. Knowing that, she still can’t fucking breathe without fearing a very public, very embarrassing melt down, so she decides to make a very quick, very fast escape out into the wilderness.

She can barely see anyone around her as she decides to go out, but does end up running into someone.

‘Jesus, I’m sorry, excuse me, I’m in a rush,’ Lyanna says everything that will come to her in the moment. She just needs to breathe, for a second.

‘Woah, hey, I’m sorry,’ and wait a minute, that sounds familiar. And maybe the universe does hate her, because there’s Rhaegar fucking Targaryen, holding her by the shoulders, apologizing.

‘Rhaegar, Jesus,’ she says, and then promptly has no idea what else to say.

‘Where are you running off to?’ he asks her. She can’t meet his eyes. ‘I was actually going to ask you for a dance, but if you’re in that much of a hurry -’

‘I just, I don’t know,’ Lyanna manages to say. ‘I met my father.’

And just like that Rhaegar’s mood shifts. ‘You doing okay? Lyanna, you honestly don’t look good.’

‘I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack. Or a break down. Or both? Are they the same thing?’ Lyanna asks the floor, trying to breathe. On the dance floor, she can hear the actual band start to play, someone discreetly shutting off the IPod they had blasting Mozart, no matter how much Lyanna told them she’s pretty sure it was the wrong time period for that shit. They’re asking couples to come to the floor, everyone, and Lyanna doesn’t want to do this.

‘Calm down, do you want to get out of here?’ Rhaegar asks her.

In a way, she’s sort of glad he’s actually here, instead of fucking Jaime who seems to be too busy drinking himself to death because his sister’s fucking her ex-boyfriend. If anything, Lyanna’s the one who deserves to drink herself into a stupor at this point, right. She wants to fuck off back to her room and drink until she passes out, until she can drown  out her father’s disappointment – but at the same time, Lyanna feels like that’s letting him win. She doesn’t really want to do any of those things. She came here today to hang out with Jaime, and Domeric, and her little brother, maybe say a few words to Rhaegar, dance a bunch of times. She was going to seek out Maron, and see if he was up for something more; ask Brandon is he’ll spend the night at hers. This isn’t what how expected her night to turn out; with her close to breaking down while Rhaegar looks close to shaking her like a rag doll, with her father showing up and shitting over her by saying nothing, or by the fact that her best friend apparently still isn’t over his bullshit.

‘I want to stay and dance, but I don’t think I can,’ Lyanna says, truthfully for once. She hates admitting to weakness, but Rhaegar doesn’t seem to take it that way, doesn’t give her the pity look.

He just nods, looks around, and then leads her out the back entrance. They’re in the hallway of one of the oldest buildings on campus, and for some reason, there are actual torches there instead of the lights.

‘This is a real safety hazard,‘ Lyanna says as they walk, feet echoing on the stone. ‘I mean really, someone will fuck up and this place might actually burn down. Why? Because aesthetics, that’s why.’

‘I’m impressed by your ability to give critique even when you’re emotionally mutilated,’ Rhaegar says, lightly. He’s not looking at her, just walking straight beside her, and for a second she almost thanks him.

‘What can I say, it’s how I cope with shit,’ she tells him. ‘Excuse me while I suck my tears back in and spare my mascara from making me look like a raccoon.’

He’s smiling just a little, but he also seems concerned for her.  He doesn’t say anything, though, just leads her through hallways. ‘Alright, so there’s this place, exactly under this building. Now it can be a bit -’

‘Shady?’ Lyanna asks. Whatever his plan was, she’ll admit, it’s sort of working because she doesn’t quite feel as terrible. Instead she’s sort of curious, the way she’s always been about exploring new things. ‘It’s cool.’

‘I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable,’ he says, honestly, and Lyanna’s kind of pleasantly surprised.

‘I’m not, lead the way,’ she tells him. At one point near the stairs they both have to fish their phones out of their pockets and turn the flashlight on because clearly this part of the building isn’t lit at all. Rhaegar gets out a set of keys and opens the oldest wooden door Lyanna’s ever seen, and she almost steps through immediately because she’s feeling pretty damn curious now. It’s pitch black and -

Rhaegar stops her with a hand to her arm. ‘Woah, there. There’s stairs here, be careful.’

His hand feels warm on her hand; it’s much colder down here than it was upstairs. Lyanna waits for him to let go of her arm, and feels colder as soon as he does. With how long her dress is, especially on stairs, she has to use on hand to lift it up so she doesn’t trip and fall while the other holds her phone up.

Regardless, it’s a bad idea, because she the steps are fucking steep but also tiny, and Lyanna really finds old architecture really stupid in these tiny regards. ‘Jesus, these stairs are stupid,’ she says, aloud, voice echoing. She has to sort of balance the hand that’s holding the phone on the railing so she doesn’t die. ‘I mean, who the hell said okay, so from the outside it’s going to be fucking perfect, on the inside, we’ll get homicidal stairs.’

‘You’ve got a hand injury, put the phone away, I’ve got mine,’ Rhaegar says on the second step. She can hear the smile in his voice at her words. ‘Give me your hand, shift the dress to the other one.’

‘What, do you have a control kink,’ Lyanna says before she can stop herself, and is then extremely glad he can’t see her expression. ‘Okay, so I think that was inappropriate.’

Rhaegar just laughs, short and surprised, like he always does when she says something outrageous. She wonders if anyone else does that for him, or has done in a very long time.

‘Shockingly, no,’ he tells her, taking her hand. They walk down pretty carefully regardless, though. ‘You’ve got the whole Targaryen thing, which should be the end of it, to be honest, but I don’t know. I’ve never quite been one for trying to control every aspect of my life. It’s impossible, and it makes you miserable, I’ve learnt.’

‘Shit,’ Lyanna says. ‘Someone tell that to my father.’

They finally get to the bottom of the staircase, and Rhaegar looks around with the phone torch. ‘Well, shit,’ he says, ‘We don’t exactly have matches, do we.’

‘Well, no, but I do have a lighter, if that’ll work,’ Lyanna tells him. He turns to look at her, questioning wordlessly as to where it is.

‘Don’t judge me,’ Lyanna tells him, unbuttoning her collar and pushing a hand down into her cleavage to pull Maege’s lighter out. In a way, she’s glad Maege put the habit into her back when she still smoked up. It’s kind of sweaty, so Lyanna ends up wiping it against her dress. ‘It’s all because this world doesn’t believe in giving women the pockets they deserve. It’s patriarchal.’

Rhaegar’s sort of just looking at her, eyebrow raised, before he starts laughing. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he says. ‘I’m glad I met you.’

She can’t help it, she smiles as she hands him the lighter. ‘Right back at you, buddy.’

He goes off sort of leaving her there, until she looks and he’s apparently lighting these large candles they’ve got there. ‘I know, it’s very R-Week,’ he tells her. His voice echoes, and she sort of just lets the dulcet tones of his speech wash over her. She just sits down on the stone bench she can now make out, and tips her head back.

‘What are you thinking?’ she hears him call out.

‘That you’d be a great yoga instructor,’ she tells him, smiling a bit, eyes closed.

‘I do not understand how, but okay,’ he says. Lyanna wonders briefly, what he would sound like in bed. Then she presses her eyes shut more strongly, and pushes the feeling away.

‘Come on, then,’ he calls out, and Lyanna tilts her head up again. The room is sort of bigger than she expected, but it is by no means a giant hall. But then he climbs onto the bench, and then on top of it to reach up almost to the ceiling, and pulls something open.

And although the entire room is just dimly lit by the warm yellow light of the candles, somehow there Is a circle of moonlight, white and bright on the stone in front of Lyanna. For a minute she can’t say anything, she can just look at it.

‘It’s not as bright as it could be,’ Rhaegar says. ‘It’s honestly much better when it’s a full moon out, I think today it’s like a waning gibbous, but yeah.’

‘Why’d you bring me here?’ she asks him, instead of saying something like _holy fuck._

He sighs, sitting down next to her. ‘I don’t know, to be honest. The first time I came here was when I was a freshman, and I had just had an argument with my father about what I wanted to do. I was being forced into lots of things I didn’t want, and I didn’t know what to say or what to do in the face of that, so I just kept nodding until it was over, and then I kept walking until I came here,’ he says. He’s not looking at her, and for all that he is stunningly beautiful, Lyanna’s not looking at him either. They’re both looking at the frail circle of moonlight.

‘But then it got extremely suffocating, after a while, so I looked around for a vent, or something, and I found that little thing on top,’ he continues. ‘And I popped it open, and, Lyanna, it was a full moon that night. And I just sat there, looking at this circle of light, thinking, Jesus, there’s even some light down here in this underground fucking tunnel, although God knows how. And it just inexplicably made me feel better about things.’

He coughs. ‘I’ve never brought anyone else here, I – just liked knowing it was there for me, whenever I was feeling down. But I saw you today, and you looked. Well, you looked like how I think I looked that day, and I thought this would help.’

Lyanna’s silent for a few moments after that. ‘Thank you, Rhaegar,’ she says. ‘It did help.’

They sit in silence for a few moments, while Lyanna thinks about all sorts of shit at the same time, and finds only one answer: the circle of light in front of her. She wants to say something, but she doesn’t know anything that’ll fit. After a while, he’s the one who breaks the moment, and turns to look at her.

‘That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name in front of me, I think,’ he says. She turns to look at him, and this is the first time she’s seen him in this sort of lighting. She abruptly remembers that one night with Robert, the last night with him that she can remember being satisfied with, when she was drunk and he looked beautiful, and she’d wondered what Rhaegar would look like. She’s always been the kind to acknowledge that things are better in a person’s mind than in reality, and that’s what she thought of what Rhaegar would actually look like.

Now she knows, and somehow, he’s more beautiful than she expected. And he is thoughtful, and kind, and is a good friend to have, and he is married and with someone else and there are a thousand reasons why she and him would probably never work if they were ever together. But Lyanna feels like mourning this realization, that acceptance of it. She realizes in that moment that she does want him, has wanted him since he walked her home that night while claiming he was just taking a walk. She also realizes that she can’t do this. She likes him, as a person, who he is. She likes being his friend, likes being there for him. Just because she’s attracted to him doesn’t matter in the entirety of it. And one day, it won’t matter. Just like it doesn’t with Jaime anymore.

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ she tells him, blinking. She’s having the urge to touch him, just once, to bring up her hand and let the pads of her fingers touch the skin of his cheek, just so she has something to remember for this saddening affair that she had in her head and is currently burying behind a barn in her brain. ‘I’m sure I’ve said that before, in front of you.’

‘Not that I can ever recall,’ he says. He’s not smiling, but Lyanna can tell he’s not that serious melancholic self of his that he usually is. He’s not sad. There’s comfort in that, she thinks.

‘You have terrible memory. It’s a nice name,’ she says, ‘I don’t think I’ve heard it before.’

‘So is yours,’ he tells her. ‘I’ve never known a Lyanna before. Lyarra, sure.’

Her mom’s name makes her heart clench up, like it always does. She remembers very little things about her mother, but every time her name comes up Lyanna remembers Lyarra sitting on her chair, shaking her head but smiling whenever someone complained about what her daughter had been doing.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘That’s my mom’s name.’

‘Oh?’ he asks. ‘That’s nice. She didn’t come to R-Week?’

‘No, she um,’ Lyanna says. ‘She passed away when I was really young.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I know it doesn’t make a difference, or anything, and it’s not worth much coming from someone who doesn’t know what it feels like, but, yes.’

‘I get you,’ Lyanna says, looking ahead. She’s been on a rollercoaster of fucking emotional death.

‘I just think someone should apologize,’ he says. ‘For all the shittiness, you know?’

‘I do know, even if I didn’t think it would be you,’ she tells him. ‘Neither did I think I’d ever hear you say the word shittiness.’

Rhaegar blinks when she turns to look at him. ‘And why is that?’

‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ she tells him, wryly, ‘but you don’t really curse as much as everyone else does.’

He scoffs a bit. ‘I’m aware, trust me. Oberyn wouldn’t let me live it down when we were freshman. I’m afraid my parents weren’t very permissive when it came to cursing. Father always said it was a sign of being raised badly. As if that’s the only thing.’

There’s a vein of cruelty and anger there that Lyanna recognizes. But she doesn’t want both of them to be sad about their fathers, so she says, ‘Man, fucking fathers, huh?’

‘Fucking fathers,’ he says, and she’ll admit, she likes the sound of him cursing. ‘You know what’s funny? I think I curse more when I’m around you, Lyanna.’

‘Excuse you? Are you implying, good Ser, that I have soiled your honor?’ she asks, in the most fake accent she can muster. ‘That I am a bad influence on all the virtues you have?’

‘I’m afraid so, my lady, I must say so,’ he says, grinning. Lyanna loves the glint of mischief in his eyes whenever he plays along with a joke. ‘Your essence turns my virtues into vices. You crown my avarice a champion every time you set your eyes on me.’

‘You are the only person I know who can say your essence and get away with it,’ Lyanna laughs. ‘For real.’

‘And you’re the only person I know who I can joke around with like this,’ he tells her. ‘I’m glad I know you, Lyanna. I don’t know if you can tell, but it’s been a while since. Well.’

‘Oh, I can tell, trust me,’ she tells him. ‘So wait a minute, you’re telling me you don’t joke with your wife?’

He looks at her with confusion. ‘No, not really.’

She feels horrified. ‘You mean, you don’t tease each other? Or make each other laugh? You, who have been married for what, like a decade?’

‘Six years,’ he says, but then she gives him a look and he sighs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe in the beginning, when we met. Before Aegon was born, I suppose.’

‘That is just. Sad. Wow,’ Lyanna says. ‘Dude, I’m feeling like, really sorry for you right now. You know, you need this room more than I do.’

‘Your pity really makes my day, Lyanna, let me tell you,’ Rhaegar says, deadpan. He’s got his serious face on, but Lyanna knows him well enough now, so just wiggles her eyebrows at him obnoxiously, until he laughs.

‘Dude, Robert and I used to make each other laugh,’ she tells him, and she’s not lying, there’s some serious pity there. ‘Like. Robert. Of all people. That’s probably the only reason we lasted as long as we did.’

‘Yes, it is important in a relationship, I’d say,’ he says. ‘How are you feeling about the whole break up?’

‘Like I jumped off a burning boat and there was shore right in front of me,’ Lyanna says, truthfully. ‘Like stepped into a shoe store and they had a seventy percent discount on everything. Like winning an Olympic Bronze.’

‘Christ,’ Rhaegar says, leaning back. She’s noticed him be far more relaxed when he’s around her. ‘It was that bad, huh?’

‘Bad enough for him too, I guess, considering he’s already moved on,’ she says, scoffing.

‘Really?’ he asks.

‘Yep. Him and Cersei Lannister are apparently hooking up,’ Lyanna smirks. ‘And to think it hadn’t even been a day since we broke up.’

‘That’s terrible, I’m sorry,’ Rhaegar says.

‘What? No, it’s fine, like, I don’t really care about him moving on so quick in particular,’ she says. She didn’t plan on talking to someone about this whole thing, but sadly that’s where life seems to be taking her. Clearly she’s under danger of Rhaegar assuming that she’s heartbroken about _Robert_ of all bloody people, and she’s quick to destroy that assumption. ‘More like, I’m not quite sure what the fuck that whole thing is. And also I feel like I’m supposed to do something? Like, that’s what everyone keeps telling me, or at least subtly rubbing in my face, right? I’m supposed to have someone. And my father’s even more adamant that not having a long-term man is just a sign that I’m not on the decent path, or some garbage.’

‘Since I am a bit older than you I think it’s justified of me to give you some advice on that,’ Rhaegar says. ‘Don’t marry someone just for the sake of getting some peace from your family, Lyanna. It’s not fair to you, or to the person you marry.’

Okay, so that got dark, really fucking fast. But what exactly was she expecting. She thinks on how to phrase what she wants to say, without coming across as too offensive, but then concludes that Rhaegar’s sort of used to her sense of humor. ‘What they do, sell you to the Martell’s for two goats and an acre of land?’

Rhaegar gives her a pointed look, and for a second she thinks she’s taken it all wrong, that maybe he’s actually happy and was just giving her general advice. But then she sees the small smile he’s holding back. ‘Excuse you, madam, but it was three goats and _two_ acres of land.’

Lyanna laughs. ‘Oh, man, for a second there I thought I got it wrong and you’d be pissed.’

‘No,’ Rhaegar says, ‘you’re quite right, I wish I could joke about it like you can.’

‘I don’t know man, I joke about everything,’ she says. ‘I mean, it’s not me trying to lessen a tragedy, it’s just, trying to have a moment of laughter where we can forget that constant sadness, you know?’

Rhaegar’s looking at her, and smiling.

‘What?’ she asks. ‘Seriously, what?’

‘Nothing,’ he says, finally, shaking his head. ‘And yes, I know.’

With nothing to add to that, Lyanna stares ahead at the circle again, before she looks at him. ‘You’ve got really nice hair, you know that? Like, mark me down as jealous.’

‘It’s not that great,’ he says, but he looks pleased. She’s also noticed that although he’s humble, he enjoys compliments. With how long it is, he kind of looks like an elf from Lord of the Rings.

‘You look like an elf from Lord of the Rings, you know,’ she tells him. ‘Like I bet you don’t even need Halloween costumes.’  

‘We didn’t celebrate Halloween,’ he tells her, ‘still don’t.’

‘Man, your family is a buzz kill,’ she says. ‘I’ll be dressing up for Halloween even when I’m forty.’

‘It does sound fun,’ Rhaegar says, in a way only someone who has never experienced it can say.

‘God, I need to cut my hair,’ Lyanna says. With the candles and everything, she’s starting to sweat. ‘Seriously, how do you handle your long hair? How do other girls handle long hair? Is it just me?’

‘Trust me, it’s not just you,’ Rhaegar says. He looks constipated again, and God, Lyanna thought they were making progress.

‘Spit it out, constipated person,’ she pokes him in the shoulder. ‘Come on, what is it. We’re like, totally bonding here, so spill all your sad secrets.’

 ‘I’ve been thinking about cutting it,’ he says, finally. Lyanna almost blanches.

‘Are you serious? Why? They’re so naturally straight and silky, I mean, God,’ she says. ‘If I had that shit I would probably never – okay, that’s a lie, I’d still cut it off, but you know. Why?’

He sighs. Lyanna’s going to have to talk to him about his sighing one of these days. How he sounds like he’s going to war, or something.

‘I’ve had it long all my life,’ he says.

‘Are you for real? I mean, relatable, but like, seriously? Never?’ she asks. ‘Is it like a thing?’

‘It’s a thing,’ he says, grimacing.

‘You know, I’m glad we’ve moved on to the stage in our friendship when you’ve started making actual faces for your emotions, instead of like. You know,’ she says.

‘Looking emotionally constipated?’ he deadpans.

‘Yep, that,’ she says. ‘Okay, so what kind of haircut are you thinking?’

‘Short,’ he says.

‘Wow, that’s helpful,’ she tells him. ‘I meant more like, do you want it buzzed from the side, or something?’

‘You mean that thing fuck boys do?’ he asks her, with disdain.

‘I never thought I’d hear you say fuck boys, but again, onion,’ she says. ‘Yeah, that one.’

‘No, thank you,’ he says, ‘something a bit more austere.’

‘Yeah, you’re going to have to go to a pretty expensive salon guy for something _austere,_ ’ Lyanna scoffs.

‘Well, I’m just thinking about it,’ he says, looking away. Lyanna thinks it’s time to drop this topic, or at least not push with the whole - you have control over your life, you just have to be brave enough – lecture.

What she does know is, right now, she’s pretty much doing the same thing Rhaegar did, and that’s saying yes to her father’s plans for her, letting her loneliness bring her standards down. She doesn’t want to be in a place in the future where she has to think this long about cutting her hair.

‘Rhaegar,’ she says, and waits for him to look at her. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, genuinely. It’s very kind of you to show me a place that was your own. I know we had that whole talk about having some things that we want to keep to ourselves, and I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’ve lost this one. And I won’t be coming here -’

‘I’m sorry for cutting you off,’ he tells her immediately, smiling a bit, just like he does when she’s said something he’s enjoyed hearing. ‘Lyanna, I know what we talked about, and I know you feel very strongly about that. Yes, there are some places and some things we should have for our own. But there are some things you can share with people who will appreciate them as much as you do. So, trust me, it’s free real estate.’

'let's go dance,' she says, smiling, and gets up, and they start to walk out. It’s only until she takes his hand to walk up the stairs that she realizes what he said.

‘Wait, Rhaegar,’ she says, and he stops with her. ‘Did you just quote a meme?’

‘Hmm?’ he says, but she can tell he knows what she’s talking about, even if he isn’t full out grinning. ‘What?’

‘The free real estate thing, the meme,’ she says, laughing. ‘Jesus Christ, am I rubbing off on you? Am I like bringing back your college days? Oh my God, do you know vines?’

‘Oh, Lyanna,’ he says, smirking, his face barely lit by his tiny mobile torch, ‘you have no idea of the things I know.’

‘Holy shit,’ she says, laughing, and he laughs too, and his hand is warm around hers as they ascend the stone stair case.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1** wow, okay, so that was an eventful chapter. for all those ned/catelyn fans out there, can we get a _yee yee_ because the next chapter will focus on them more so. jaime really needs to get his shit together, though, i'll tell you that. but all those rhaegar/lyanna friends, ya'll can party because look at these cuties trying to act like they don't like each other. it's disgusting.
> 
> **2** regardless tho i hope you all liked this chapter and all the relationship developing with other people, and character-fleshing. thank you to everyone who commented and left a kudos, you all honestly keep me going and motivate me to write 9k per chapter (especially during exam season lol). thank you to all those who read this and look forward to it, because it means more than anything for me to know that this little project of mine is something people enjoy reading as much as i enjoy writing. i look forward to reading everyone's thoughts on this one!
> 
> **p.s** maron'll be coming back into the picture, because the burn is slow as fuck. yee yee, ya'll.


	9. and the gambler, she broke even

So they’re all for the dancing, except it turns out the dance floor is kind of way too full what with the freshman there too.

‘This is awful,’ Lyanna says. ‘What is this, the mosh pit equivalent of a renaissance? Why are there so many people?’

‘You’re right, this looks terrible,’ Rhaegar says. ‘It’ll be better when the freshmen have their own dance tomorrow.’

Oh, right, Lyanna remembers her own special only-freshman renaissance dance. She and Jaime had just broken up, she thinks, and she’d spent the week getting high with Maege in the bathrooms.

‘Right, that lovely fest,’ she says, ‘I have sad memories of that.’

‘I do as well,’ Rhaegar offers. They’re sipping from the ever dwindling fruit punch bowl, refusing to go into the cesspool of sweat that’s on the dance floor. ‘My freshman R-dance was spent mostly dancing with Elia, and my parents staring at me whenever I danced with anyone else.’

Lyanna shudders, visibly. ‘That’s worse than mine. ’

‘What was yours like?’ he asks.

‘Well let’s see - Jaime and I had just broken up, so I got high with Maege in the bathroom, danced with a lot of people, including my brother, then went and cried in the bathroom for an hour until some chick who wanted a safe place to fuck came in and offered me ten dollars to go away somewhere else,’ Lyanna recounts.

‘Wow,’ Rhaegar says. ‘I don’t know if it was worse than mine, I’ll say that. But hey, you and Jaime dated? Wouldn’t think two exes could be decent friends. And from what I can tell, you guys are best friends.’

‘Yeah, I didn’t think it either,’ she says, grimacing at the reminder of what exactly Jaime’s been doing all too recently. ‘For a while there, we were just kind of ignoring each other. Then we were like, this is stupid, the best part of the relationship was the friendship. It was a good relationship because of that, you know? You should be friends with the person you want to spend your life with. At least it taught me that.’

Rhaegar looks deep in thought.

‘You thinking about something deep there, buddy?’ Lyanna asks, grinning.

‘No, just,’ he coughs a bit. His hair is disgustingly straight against his shoulder. ‘I just think it would be good, to be friends with someone you’re in a relationship with.’

Lyanna’s sort of wants to give him a hug because of how sad he looks, but just as she’s thinking about that some twirling couple collides with her uninjured hand that’s been holding her drink, and it’s only by luck that she drops the glass and doesn’t drop everything on her.

‘Well, this is shit,’ she says, frankly, when no apology is given and the couple twirls away, leaving her and Rhaegar standing there, looking at the spilt punch. ‘How about we take a rain check on the dance and reschedule it for tomorrow? I think I’m going to go to bed, study a bit, or something.’

‘That is actually what I was going to suggest,’ he says, cautiously stepping away from the spilt drink snaking its way to his shoes. ‘Although I hope you are in a better state of mind now than you were previously, considering.’

Lyanna arches a brow.

‘I just want to know if you’ll be getting the good kind of sleep, and not the ugly crying in bed kind,’ he says, smiling a bit, hesitant almost. It makes her smile back immediately.

‘You got experience with the latter?’ she asks, teasing, but then says more softly, ‘thank you, for today. I mean that. I most certainly will not be ugly crying myself to sleep.’

‘I’m glad,’ he says, and then laughs, just a little. She feels stunned.

‘Dude, did you just laugh? In public? Like a normal person? What?’ she asks, smiling, ‘What are you thinking?’

He shakes his head, but she elbows him in the shoulder and he laughs again, admitting, ‘I was just going to say you’re probably an ugly crier. I’m sorry, I don’t know where the thought came from.’

Lyanna laughs, she can’t help it. Just that coming from his mouth is so jarring and uncharacteristic, she’s still laughing when she says, ‘I am rubbing off on you, Christ. What’s next, kicking a kitten?’

He doesn’t reply, just laughs and looks around.

‘Who knows, huh?’ she says, still feeling the effects of laughing. ‘God, goodnight, Rhaegar. Don’t get too crazy.’

‘Yes, because you can always expect me in a pool filled with jello and four hookers - one of whom is my cousin,’ he says, deadpan.

‘That was oddly specific, did that happen to you or someone,’ Lyanna says.

He shakes his head, sighs. ‘Trust me, you don’t need that story in your life. Goodnight, Lyanna.’

‘Goodnight,’ she says, again, and then, ‘oh, hey, you jousting tomorrow?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he says, ‘I won’t be here in the morning, I think I have a pre-school sign up thing for Rhaenys.’

‘Oh, cool,’ Lyanna says, jarred by the reminding fact that this man has children.  ‘Well, see you tomorrow night then.’

‘See you,’ he says.

And that’s sort of it, then. Lyanna mumbles to herself on the way out on whether she should find Jaime and Domeric but then she’s still a bit upset about everything, and she doesn’t want to ruin whatever good mood she’s found by dealing with a drunk, love-struck Jaime who doesn’t want to address his problems. Instead, she thinks that maybe today is a bit of a study day, since she does have almost half an hour to midnight, and doesn’t exactly have to wake up too early tomorrow.

She actually ends up making a dent on all the reading they were given before R-Week, and ends up falling asleep at 2 am.

Waking up like a decent human being involves her feeling proud of herself for two things: taking her makeup off, and putting some leave-in conditioner in her hair. They’re all soft when she wakes up, and slightly more tolerable than her usual shtick that makes her want to shave it off. It’s not too early, still around 8 AM, and Lyanna would usually get up and find Jaime, or call him, but she doesn’t feel like doing that today.

Instead, she finds herself lying there for a while longer, and when she finally picks up her phone, she ends up calling Maege instead.

‘Hey, buddy, what’s up?’ she asks when Maege picks up.

‘Oh fuck, Lya, I gotta call you back, babe,’ Maege answers like she’s just woken up. ‘I don’t know whose dorm I’m in, but I have a Frey with me, and someone who I think is a Florent. Oh fuck, this is a new low, I’ll call you back.’

Then she hangs up. Lyanna’s sort of wondering what’s going to happen now, and maybe she needs to talk to Maege about her whole _thing._ Like she’s all for people sleeping with other people, and has no qualms about that shit, but it’s like what Domeric told her – maybe there is something deeper to the whole sleeping with people thing that Lyanna just never seemed to broach with her.

So maybe today, she’ll drag Maege out for lunch after the joust, or something, and talk to her about the whole thing. And then she remembers that she’s promised Domeric her favor, which means actually seeing him, and actually giving him like, a ribbon, or some shit.

With a heaving sigh, she finally gets up and slips into her dress, wondering again why exactly she spends money on this shit. Next year, she’s just going to take R-Week off, or something, and just like not exist in the same vicinity. Claim she has chicken pox, or something. Then there’s all of the hair fixing and the bare-minimum make up doing, and the kohl-applying, and Lyanna really wishes she was a guy sometimes. She’s seen her brothers get ready for dates by sleeping for an hour and a half and then spraying some cologne.

She’s gotten a text from Benjen telling her she should meet them in around thirty minutes, so Lyanna basically tries to clean her room up a little during the time she can spare, and then walks to say goodbye to her father. Benjen gives her a long hug, longer than she expected because of his whole _I’m-an-adult_ thing, but it moves her the same way it did when she was leaving for college. Her father is short with her, not saying more than he needs to, but does say a rough, ‘take care of yourself, Lya,’. She doesn’t know how to feel; he’s only rarely used the nickname.

Brandon and Ned are there too, and Brandon’s brought Ashara along, of all the people in the world who should be present for familial goodbye fests. Once they’ve departed in a cab whose driver gives them the weirdest look, Ashara comes up to give her a hug.

‘Hi, Lyanna,’ she says, ‘we were about to have breakfast, you wanna come with?’

‘No, I’m good, thank you,’ she says, ‘I’m supposed to meet Maege.’

Brandon kisses her on the cheek and departs with a wink that promises details.

‘Has he told you about her in bed yet?’ she asks Ned, who has given her a half hug and then just stood there.

‘Sadly yes,’ Ned admits. ‘I heard about it last night. Alongside him and Robert, I feel extremely uncomfortable. Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘For what? Mentioning Robert?’ she asks, sighing. ‘Look, Ned, brother mine, he’s your friend. He has been for years now. Please don’t think that you have to stop that or lessen that in regards to my break up, which I should tell you, had a very amiable after conversation. I’m good, and I wish him the relative best.’

‘The relative best?’ Ned is almost smiling. Some days, Lyanna thinks he’s worse than Rhaegar.

‘What can I say?’ she says. ‘Look, he wasn’t right for me. It’s not all on him that I sort of just sat there knowing he wasn’t right for me and then disliked him for it.’

‘You’re growing up, Lyanna,’ Ned says.

‘I’m trying, trust me,’ she says, smiling. ‘You wanna have breakfast with me?’

‘Didn’t you have to meet someone?’ he asks.

‘Nope,’ she answers, easily, ‘I just wanted to avoid details from Ashara and our dearest brother.’

‘I share that sentiment,’ Ned says, and they go off for breakfast. He shyly admits that he enjoyed Catelyn’s company, and that he did ask her if she would dance with him again tonight, and Lyanna wonders how exactly this is working out for everyone but her.

Like, Brandon finds Ashara, Ned finds Catelyn, and Lyanna finds? What exactly? A healthy break-up, a married man, and a human-disaster best friend? Well, there’s Maron too, who she hasn’t spoken to in a whole day after like, sleeping with him and dancing with him and getting good advice from him, and maybe she should be tracking him down. She needs more friends, anyways.

So she goes to the store and buys some black ribbons because the gray ones are just depressing, and then heads to Jaime’s dorm. Jaime’s the one to open it too, for the first time in history, and that’s probably because Domeric’s down prepping for the tourney.

‘Hey Lya,’ Jaime says, with the look of the hung over.

‘You look trash,’ she tells him. She was still a bit pissed about his whole weird attitude yesterday, so she’s showed up empty-handed apart from a cup of disgusting, almost luke-warm black coffee that she knows he hates.

‘Here’s some coffee,’ she tells him, sweetly. ‘For the hang over.’

 He takes a sip and blanches. ‘What the fuck.’

‘This is for being a weirdo yesterday,’ she tells him. ‘Because that’s what you deserve.’

‘Lyanna, I know, but can we skip the lecture tirade for now?’ he tells her.

‘No, we may not,’ she says. ‘You’ve been acting shitty, and I want to know why.’

‘I’m going to shower, and try to look like a human being in time for the joust,’ he tells her, giving her a look. ‘I don’t want to talk about this right now, Lyanna. Yesterday was an off-day, okay? Just let it go, for fuck’s sake. Why do you always have to get so downright bitchy about these things? Not everything has a deeper sentiment behind it, you know?’

Okay, so that’s just weird. He never talks to her like that. Lyanna’s suddenly filled with a clear cut look of the widening gap between them.

‘Fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine,’ she tells him, a hint of anger in her tone. ‘Go take your shower. I won’t bother asking you about your attitude again, yeah?’

He looks a bit regretful, scrubs a hand over his face. ‘Lyanna…it’s just. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.’

‘Well, clearly, you don’t want to try either, so alright then,’ she tells him. ‘Go take your shower. I’ll see you at the joust.’

‘Oh, right, walk away like you always do,’ Jaime says, sounding resoundingly self righteous. If there’s anything she can’t stand, it is self righteousness. ‘You don’t ever try to understand things, Lyanna-’

_Understand what?_ She wants to ask him. _Understand what? That you’re lonely, and heartbroken, and trying to get over it? That you have a family who doesn’t get you, and a family you don’t want but can’t let go off? That you’re sad and miserable and confused, and you don’t know what to do?_

She puts a hand out to stop him, and speaks softly but firmly. ‘You know what, you’re right. I don’t understand why you would take the one good and honest friendship you have and basically shit over it. I get that you’re miserable, Jaime, but fuck, who isn’t. You want to be self destructive and ruin this? Go ahead. Either get your shit together or don’t, but I’ll listen to you here – no more lectures from my end.’

He stands there, and doesn’t say anything. Somehow, that hurts her more than she expected.

Lyanna turns around and leaves.

Down at the tourney she comes across Domeric, who sees her while one of his friends is tightening his shoulder pads, and immediately shrugs him off to jog across to her.

‘My lady,’ he says, grinning. He takes her hand and kisses it, while bowing. Lyanna shakes her head, but it makes her smile in a way she didn’t think she would after the _thing_ with Jaime. ‘How are you?’

‘Gucci trash, you know me,’ she says, laughing. ‘You guys get home alright? Sorry I didn’t stick around, things just got a bit. Suffocating.’

‘Yeah, about that, I’m really sorry I sort of ditched you with your dad,’ Domeric says, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. It makes his biceps stand out, and for a second Lyanna’s hit with that casual appreciation for the human form. ‘I thought you’d want some time in private, but clearly you left there looking like you were having a miscarriage, so I have a feeling I was wrong.’

‘Dude, that is an annoyingly accurate description for how I was feeling when I left,’ Lyanna says, ‘but no harm, no foul. I ended up okay. How was Jaime?’

‘Well, he threw up in someone’s rose bush last night,’ Domeric says, making a face.  ‘Not even sure why. He was adamant that it had to be rose bushes.’

Lyanna shakes her head. ‘Oh well, screw that, I seem to recall that I owed you my favor.’

‘You do indeed. And if I win, mademoiselle, I shall crown you Queen of Love and Beauty,’ Domeric says.

‘Domeric, that is so fucking sweet of you, even if that whole thing is increasingly patriarchal and weird,’ she tells him, tugging the ribbon out. ‘Like, who even wants winter roses? I live in the North, those are all we ever get. Nothing special about them, apart from the fact that they probably cost a shit load to bring over.’

‘Shh, you can yeet them in the woman’s march, alright?’ he tells her, laughing. ‘Win back your feminist credentials.’

‘Don’t sass me,’ Lyanna threatens, ‘I still haven’t tied the damn ribbon.’

She does have to take a moment out and appreciate Domeric’s biceps again, while she ties the ribbon. This is one man who doesn’t skip the gym.

‘Nice gains bro,’ she says to him, grinning.

‘Sis be taking no prisoners,’ he says. When she’s finally done, he tests it a bit and then flexes, wiggles his eyebrows at her.

‘Domeric, Jesus,’ she says, snorting, charmed completely against her will.

‘Okay, time to win that shit,’ he says, ‘but for real though, Lya, you the real slim shady.’

Lyanna clasps her heart. ‘That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’

He throws a hand out in earnest and walks off, and Lyanna’s standing there thinking about how maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t mind going out with him if she actually liked him for him and was sure she wasn’t just like, despairingly lonely when someone bumps into her.

‘Oh my god, is everyone blind here,’ she says, grasping at a tent rope that’s thankfully present like an ex machina. She turns around and is greeted with the solid sight of Robert Baratheon, and in the next few seconds feels any romantic feelings she’s ever had for anyone die a slow gruesome death.

‘Not everyone, just the rich folks,’ Robert says. ‘Hey there, Lyanna.’

‘What’s up, Robert,’ she says, slightly off-kilter from how casual he sounds. ‘Any particular reason you’re bumping into people, or did you just want to show off the family money?’

‘Uhhh,’ he says, like all the times Robert couldn’t be bothered to listen to really long sentences. It wasn’t that he was dumb, was the shocking thing Lyanna had realized, he was just too lazy to listen and comprehend and make an effort most of the time.

‘Whatever,’ he tells her. ‘I was just wondering if you’d give me your favor.’

Lyanna blinks at him. He’d make more sense if he’d asked her to sell her shit by the ounce to make a statement about art in modern society. ‘What,’ she says, blankly.

‘Like, you said you would when we were dating,’ he says, like she’s the idiot here. ‘I can’t go out there with no favor. It’s not done with us.’

Lyanna cringes. ‘Yeah, find someone else, because we’re not together, I’ve given my favor to someone else, and I’m sure there’s a bunch of ladies here who’re willing. Cersei Lannister, for example.’

‘So you heard about that, damn,’ he says, rubbing his beard. Lyanna thinks to herself rather smugly of how glad she is that she has no beard burn in her life anymore.  ‘Look, it’s not what you think.’

‘I don’t care what it is,’ she tells him, pointedly. ‘I just refuse to give you my favor.’

‘Oh, come on, Lya,’ he says, sounding so much like the petulant child he’d been during their relationship that Lyanna’s almost overcome by a jump scare-like wave of endearment and forced to knee-jerk agree to him. ‘You owe me that favor, remember, for not telling your family you cheated. Remember that? Remember?’

Lyanna remembers alright. She’d be willing to strip and dance in front of her family if it means she can bleach her brain of the last few months. ‘Fuck, why can’t you just tie a stupid ribbon and act like it was from someone?’

‘Well, when I win I’ll have to give it to someone,’ he says, and of course. Of course he’s so sure that he’ll win. ‘Who the fuck would I give it to?’

‘I don’t know?! The next girl you want in your bed, maybe? That should go over really well,’ she tells him.

‘Lyanna, my mom’s here. She’d be so pissed if I just gave it to someone like that. She’s always liked you, you know?’

‘We’re not even together anymore, what the fuck -’

‘She still likes you though, and like, come on, just do it, you owe me a favor -’

‘It’ll make people think we’re together and that’s not the image I want to ever give people again and -’

‘No, it won’t, they might just think that I’m trying to apologize and then you can like, leave -’

‘You know what? Fine, I’ll give it, you probably won’t even win, Robert, so the whole point is moot -’

‘Excuse me? Of course I’ll win, what the fuck, that is just libel, Lyanna -’

Lyanna throws a ribbon at him. ‘Fine, just whatever. Okay, this is me repaying my favor, I no longer owe you shit, good day.’

’Jesus, lady, was that so hard?’ he says, holding the black satin slip.

‘You have no idea,’ she tells him. She feels pissed, but also strangely like herself. It’s only something Robert has been able to instigate in her. ‘Now, please, fuck off for the tourney.’

‘Winter roses, eh,’ he says as he walks away, and Lyanna full body cringes.

She looks at the errant strip of remaining black ribbon in her hand. ‘Anyone else want a fucking favor?’ she calls out loud.

‘Are you okay?’ a voice calls out, and Lyanna shrieks.

‘Woah, woah, calm down,’ Maron says. Lyanna wonders if there’s a giant, neon signal lighting up her location today. ‘Just saw you talking to yourself, thought I’d come over and keep you company if you were quite so desperate.’

‘Maron, you’re a fucking riot,’ she tells him, but she is smiling. ‘So lemme guess, you’re in the tourney, and you wanted a favor?’

He looks at her, confused. ‘What? No, I was actually on my way to get something to drink.’

‘How about I come with?’ she asks, quickly shoving the ribbon into her pocket. She’s just remembered that she should probably hang with him.

‘Sure,’ he smiles that old shark smile, the one she’d picked out in her first Marine Biology class.

‘So, what, we’re going for mead?’ she asks, making a face.

‘Actually, a smoothie,’ he answers. ‘The mead fucking sucks.’

‘Dude, everyone I know hates the mead. Why the fuck do they even still serve it?’ she asks, and he shrugs.

‘I think it’s just a stupid tradition,’ he says.

‘Well, stupid traditions like that can kiss my ass, right. Fucking always there, tying you to some stupid thing some older guy did when it makes no sense in the present, and there’s no real reason behind it, it’s just a stupid thing someone did and now you have to do it too, because apparently following someone as they piss into a cup is really just character building, isn’t it,’ Lyanna rants. Then she abruptly stops and feels horrified at the warmth in her cheeks.

‘Wow, I did not understand a single word of that,’ Maron says, blinking, but he’s also grinning like he’s about to laugh. ‘I’m assuming this is about some familial bullshit, right?’

‘Yeah, please ignore that, Maron,’ she says, blinking rapidly. ‘It’s just fucked up, you know?

‘Tell me the fuck about it,’ he sighs. ‘Dude, this will cheer you up and depress you in equal measures, but the Greyjoy family has this _game_ we all play, right, and it’s basically the older kids dunking your head into the sea water until you pass out, and whoever can stay awake the longest wins.’

‘What the fuck,’ Lyanna says. ‘Are you serious?

‘Sadly, I am,’ he nods. ‘Dude, my dad still believes that hitting below the belt should be allowed in fights, because according to him, a man who’s scared of getting kicked in the balls is no real man.’

‘Bro,’ Lyanna says, vaguely shook. Okay, so maybe she got off lucky on the whole weird family thing. 

They walk up to the smoothie store, and give their orders, and although he eyes her credit card as she hands it over to pay for her own shit, he doesn’t say anything.  

‘You wanna go watch the tourney? Because if so, we might want to get good seats,‘ Maron says, sipping his weird concoction of banana and kiwi.

‘Yeah, why not,’ Lyanna says. Her own strawberry smoothie is growing warm from the sun, even though she barely just got it. She slurps more urgently.

‘So, anyone fighting on your behalf?’ he asks her.

‘Yes, Domeric, apparently,’ she says. ‘And Robert, but that was literally just a fluke, so.’

‘Huh,’ he says. ‘Well, you’re popular. What, is Robert trying to win you back?’

Lyanna chokes on her smoothie. ‘No, God no. Ugh. The idea is traumatizing. He just, I don’t know, was disgustingly confident about winning and basically didn’t want people to think he has no social standing or options. All I know is, his reasons were gross and patriarchal and upper-classy, and the only reason I agreed was to get over the favor I owed him.’

Maron thinks it over, then shrugs. ‘Makes sense. Also, you want the aisle seat or the other one?’

‘Aisle, bless you,’ she says, waiting for him to step in so she can arrange her skirts into her own seat.

When they’ve finally settled down, Lyanna gives up on her hopes for a cold smoothie. Through the trip in the blazing sun, the strawberry tastes warm and overtly sweet, and it’s only some level of boredom that makes her hold onto it and sip despairingly.

They both give each other a look when the tourney finally begins, and people have Tetris packed themselves into the stands.

‘You know, you haven’t really been weird about the whole sleeping together thing,’ Lyanna says, nudging him. There’s two random guys who she doesn’t know up against each other, and she’d much rather be talking.

Maron shrugs, turning to look at her. Clearly, he doesn’t know them or care about them either. ‘Told you I wouldn’t.’

‘Well, that is true,’ Lyanna muses, barely flinching as one of the guys takes a tumble down. ‘Still, you haven’t really done much, except be my friend and ask me for a dance, and give me good advice.’

‘Let’s see, I am your friend, you owed me that dance for a while now, and friends are supposed to give their friends good advice,’ he lists down, deadpanning.

‘I don’t know what I was expecting,’ she admits, pulling a face. ‘Like, I really don’t.’

Maron shrugs, and then slurps his smoothie obnoxiously. Lyanna glares at him, only to notice his mouth curving at the side of the straw.

‘Don’t annoy me, Maron,’ she tells him, but she’s smiling.

The tourney goes on for around two hours, during which Domeric and Robert both make the quarter final equivalent or whatever. But then, they both take falls, and the ultimate winner is some older dude named Barristan Selmy from the graduate department.

‘Well, at least Robert didn’t appoint me his Queen,’ Lyanna cringes. ‘What do you wanna do? We have a few hours to kill.’

‘No clue,’ Maron says. ‘I didn’t really make plans.’

‘Well, you know what we could do?’ Lyanna leans into him, smirking.

‘What?’ he asks, slowly.

‘Study. R-Week’s really fucked my schedule.’

‘You’re hilarious, Lyanna,’ he tells her.

She interlocks her hand with his at the elbow. ‘Don’t be so sad about it. Now, you wanna get your books and come to mine, or should we stop by mine and then go to yours?

‘Mine’s closer, so we might as well get my books and then head to yours,’ Maron says. He’s squinting in the sunlight, and his hair looks amber in the sun, falling onto his forehead. It reminds her a bit of when Jaime was growing out his hair, and how it would fall across his forehead, and how much she’d want to push it away and how much she knew she couldn’t because they weren’t in that place yet.

And it’s with a small shock of pleasantness that she realizes she can do that with Maron, so she leans over and pushes his hair up.

He blinks down at her. ‘What was that for?’

‘Nothing,’ Lyanna says, being honest. ‘Just wanted to.’

They talk a bit more about their studies, how sophomore year has been so far and whether they’ll be doing well or not by the end of the semester. Then they stop by his, and Lyanna remembers the stumbling into his room, the blurry newness of his hand on her waist, on the small of her back. How it felt to kiss him, her fingers clutching at the nape of his neck. She blinks it away.

Maron, thankfully, hasn’t noticed that so far. He’s going about his room, a lot cleaner than the last time she was here, and trying to find a book on marine biology or some shit.

‘The heat is terrible today,’ he says, taking his coat off, one hand still brushing over notebooks. His shirt stretches across his back, and Lyanna’s mind is overrun by the memory of touching his shoulder blade, running her hands down his back. ‘Feel like I’m living in hell’s asshole.’

Lyanna’s barely listening to him. ‘Mmhm. You got your books?’

‘Yeah, just one I can’t find,’ he says. ‘What are you thinking about?’

The suddenness of the question makes her blink. ‘What? Nothing. Just, yeah, nothing.’

Maron’s still looking, but he turns his head to grin at her. ‘Doesn’t sound like nothing.’

Lyanna isn’t sure why she isn’t just coming out and saying something. Maybe it’s everything that’s been going on in her life, the feeling of having no control. She’s thinking of talking to Rhaegar, of fighting with Jaime, of looking at her father, of laughing with Maege.

_There’s an albatross around your neck_ , she thinks. _Let it go._

‘Memories, yeah?’ she smiles, hand curled against his doorway. He’s looked away, but then at her tone he turns to look at her, more serious.

‘I don’t know if you’re just messing around,’ he laughs, puts a hand through his hair. Lyanna wonders if he’s nervous. ‘What do you want, Lyanna?’

‘You. Then maybe a snack or something?’ she says. The weight of the moment settles on her. Distantly, she thinks she can hear her heartbeat in her ears.

‘Now?’ he says, and he’s stopped halfway, frozen in place from the moment she’d said, _you._

She’s taken the leap; after all, what exactly is she afraid of? She’s out of a bad relationship, she’s with a friend who she finds attractive, and she’s stone cold sober. It’s not in the dark of the night, like most of the time she’s had sex – whether it was with a stranger or with the guy she thought she liked. The sun is blaring through the windows; she can feel the sweat prickling at the base of her neck.

‘Why not now?’ she answers. It’s different like this, more real. She wants the clarity of it all, she wants to remember what he looks like, exactly what they do. She wants to come back here and not remember blurred stumbling and cheese holes in her memory.

He’s smiling, a bit hesitantly. ‘Thought you said we were going to study.’

‘I mean, I never said what we’d be studying, so,’ she grins. ‘You can’t exactly take me to court for it.’

‘You have a point,’ he says, turns and puts his books down. Then he stands there, looks at her.

‘You going to do something, or do I have to start us off?’ she laughs. He’s being so different from the guy he was that night, the one that kissed her the moment he knew she wanted it. Maybe he’s looking at the cold light of day too, wondering what it means.

He blinks, sighs, and smiles – all at the same time. ‘I haven’t really slept with anyone at 2 PM.’

She shrugs. ‘Neither have I.’

He shakes his head, grin widening until its sharp again, the way she thinks looks best on him. There are five steps between the desk he’s standing at and the doorway she’s leaning on, and he crosses them faster than she’d anticipated. She can feel his breath on her face. They’re both still grinning, and Lyanna’s overcome with the feel of him, so close.

‘First time for everything, I guess,’ he says. His eyes flick from her eyes to her mouth in a heartbeat.

‘Are you ever going to shut up and kiss me,’ she says, eyebrows raised, ‘or am I going to have to find -’

He kisses her, brief and chaste. She breathes through her nose, stays there for a moment, wraps her hand around his back, and feels the sun hit her skin from where it’s falling on him. His shirt is hot.

She pulls back, strangely calm and beyond wanting. ‘Let’s do this, Rhett Butler.’

‘You’re too northern to be a proper Scarlett,’ he says, eyes still closed.

‘Oh my god, shut up,’ she says, and kisses his grinning mouth.

The sex is good, a bit more awkward now that they’re sober, but they laugh through it. There’s the fumble for the condom, the elaborate blinking when they’re waiting for shit to feel better, and at one point she gets on top of him because she just wants to.

It shocks her in this latent way at the back of her head, that she’s more comfortable with Maron than she ever was with Robert. She can’t imagine fucking Robert like this, sober and lit up with the afternoon light.

They’re too sweaty to cuddle, and Lyanna tells him that up front.

‘Amen, brother,’ he says, still lying there like a pile of goo. She excuses herself to use his bathroom and clean up, and then ends up looking at herself in the mirror. She looks sweaty and satisfied, and doesn’t mind the former as much as she thought she would.

‘Huh,’ she says to herself.  ‘I should probably go back and shower. And change.’

And that is the plan, except she ends up putting her bra on and settling into his bed again while he’s squished into the corner. She’s sitting up against the head board, thinking about how much she misses smoking after sex.

‘So this was fun,’ Maron says. ‘Also less sweaty than I expected, considering it’s like, eighty degrees.’

‘I know, right,’ she says. ‘I’m vaguely hungry now, but I also need a shower.’

He sniffs the air. ‘My room smells like sex.’

‘Don’t complain,’ she says, smiling. ‘You’re a college guy; your room can either smell of sex or unwashed clothes and beer bottles. You have nothing to complain about.’

He lifts his hands up, lazily placating. ‘I take it back, nothing to complain about.’

They stay there for a while, the thermostat turned up until the sweat dries of completely and Lyanna can tolerate the thought of putting clothes on again.  

‘Help me in to my dress, would you? I’m not going to contort my body into a pretzel trying to zip this up unless I absolutely have to.’

‘Sure,’ he says. He’s just put his trousers on, and Lyanna is hit by an appreciation for his chest. His hands are sure against her zip, and he says, ‘there we go.’

She turns around. ‘I should go shower.’

‘Yeah, same,’ he says. ‘Bit weird, isn’t it? You’d expect to go to sleep after this, but it’s like. Only three PM right now.’

Lyanna sighs. ‘Yeah, my body’s trying to convince me to nap right now, but I’m also hungry.’

‘How about we shower, and then get something to eat?’ he asks her.

‘You’re on. I’m thinking pizza,’ she says.

‘A woman after my own heart,’ he says, solemnly, then grins. ‘You want me to walk you?’

‘Nah, go shower. It’s barely like. Ten minutes from here anyways. I’ll see you at the food street then? Whoever gets there first can order. I want extra olives and cheese and mushrooms.’

‘Okay, I don’t like pineapples,’ he says. ‘I feel like we should cover that before we go any further.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ Lyanna says, and pulls him in for a good bye kiss.

She feels strangely peaceful in the shower – there’s none of that weird first time fluttery nervous feelings akin to indigestion, or the pounding regret of a drunken encounter while she watches the water swirl near her feet. Instead, there’s a strange sense of acceptance and calm about it, a slow and thrumming wave of dopamine coursing through her from the intimacy of it. Maybe this is what happens when you don’t use the dark of the night to hide the things you don’t want to face about the other person or yourself.

She gets to the pizza place after him, and his hair looks fluffier than before. Hers is still slightly wet from the roots, but she’d been eyeing the time and using her blow dryer simultaneously, and given up when the bottom was dry enough to be curled.

Shockingly, it doesn’t feel like a first date or anything, and Lyanna feels comfortable, as if she’s done this a bunch of times. They tease each other, snipe and trade barbs. It’s fun and uncomplicated, and Lyanna’s disgustingly thankful to know she can have this with someone else. She’s had it with Jaime, but lately she feels like he’s slipping away from her, reverting back to the boy she’d almost loved but hadn’t liked.

‘I need advice, again,’ she says to him. ‘You give good advice.’

‘Okay, shoot,’ he says, chewing.

Lyanna cringes. There’s only so much she can reveal, after all. ‘Jaime’s being weird with me. He likes this girl, can’t be with her, I can’t tell you anything about that, but he basically can’t get over her either, so he’s being a giant dickhead about it to everyone, especially me. He doesn’t want to talk about it, I don’t know how to help him, and I can see myself losing a friend. What say you?’

Maron blinks, repeatedly, still chewing. ‘Okay. So…huh. Gimme a minute to think about this.’

They eat in silence for a bit, and Lyanna lets him stew.

‘I think,’ he says, finally. ‘I think no matter how hard you try to be there for him right now, or give him advice, or help him out, he’ll only see it as an attack. The only thing you can do is put across your side as precisely and as kindly as possible, and then let him deal with it. I know, this isn’t the advice you want, and I know you’re not the type to just sit back and let the other person work out their shit on their own, but right now, I think that’s the advice you need. Lyanna, you can’t solve his problems for him, and you’re not supposed to either. You know that already. You care for him, and he’s your best friend, and it sucks to see him this way, but he’ll get his shit together when he gets his shit together. Just, talk to him once. Tell him you’re there, tell him you care. Tell him that this is his shit to figure out, and that you’re worried for him, but you won’t stand for being treated like crap because he’s not getting everything he thinks he wants.’

‘Shit,’ she says. ‘I know, you’re right. Let me think about it.’

There’s a companionable silence as they eat their food, and Lyanna lets herself essentially marinate in advice that she knows is right. When they’ve split the bill and are walking out, Lyanna stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

‘Thank you, Maron,’ she says. ‘For the advice and the company.’

‘Hey, right back at you,’ he says. ‘And what else are friends for, like I’ve said.’

‘Is that what we are? Friends?’ she asks. ‘Because, friends don’t usually sleep together.’

‘Look, I don’t think you’re in the right place for a commitment right now,’ he says. ‘I don’t think I am either. Why go for trying to figure out what are essentially friends being there for each other with something more? Why try to make it out to be right or wrong if it’s either?’

Lyanna shrugs. ‘So, what, we occasionally sleep together when we want to, and basically, just, be friends?’

‘Sounds pretty good and simple right?’ he says, scoffing. ‘If either of us feels weird or feel like we can’t talk like friends, we can scale back the sex, which will truly be saddening, and focus on being friends. How’s that?’

‘Perfect,’ she says. ‘Just for the sake of it, this is not the plot of Friends with Benefits, okay?’

‘Mila Kunis was pretty cute in that film though,’ Maron replies.

‘I gotta get dressed for tonight,’ she tells him. ‘And catch up with Maege. See you at the dance?’

‘You’re on,’ he says.

She’s back in her dorm and breaking out the hair products she needs to keep her hair in shape when Maege shows up, knocking in that age old pattern she’d established to distinguish her arrival.

‘Sup, babe,’ Maege says, kissing her on both cheeks and squeezing her in a hug.  ‘Been a while, huh.’

‘Tell me about your morning,’ Lyanna says.

As Maege throws her clothes on Lyanna’s sofa and starts into her story of woe between some chick names Selyse and some Frey dude, Lyanna attempts to put a mask on her face.

‘Maege,’ Lyanna starts after she’s done speaking. ‘This is random, and you know I’d never judge you, but I’m just a bit confused. See, I had this conversation with Domeric, and I’ve been curious ever since -’

‘Why do I fuck so many people?’ Maege asks, as blunt as always. ‘I don’t know, I just like it. You know how my dad was always really weird, right? Like, super religious, but only in ways that meant he could control my mom? So basically, after they got divorced and shit, my mum sat me down and talked to me about the whole thing, and how I shouldn’t feel guilty if I liked it. Also, she like, hated men after that and was basically adamant that all they were ever good for was to fuck and leave, and I think that’s still deeply embedded in me.’

‘Huh,’ Lyanna says.

‘Yeah, and like, I don’t know, man. This is the time, isn’t it? I like fucking new people, I like discovering shit they like, and I like teaching them what I like. I can’t even think about committing to someone right now, I just enjoy it for what it is, a moment to share,’ Maege tells her, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘It’s nice, the whole newness of it. Someday when I’m old and my tits are sagging, I can look back and be like, fuck yeah. I got as much out of them while I could.’

Lyanna breaks into laughter, she can’t not. Maege has always been the friend who can make her laugh about anything. ‘Jesus, that makes sense though. I just, hey, I don’t want you to think I’m judging you. I would never, I was just, curious, and like, wanted to know if like, someone broke your heart once and now you’re making up for it by sleeping with as many men as you can and then leaving them to dry.’

Maege looks disgusted. ‘Lyanna, that’s the kind of shit boys do after their high school girlfriend of two weeks dumps their ass for not texting back for the eighteenth time in an hour. I, my dear, have never been in love. Someday, I will, and maybe then I’ll settle down and teach that boy how to eat my pussy out the way I deserve.’

‘Oh my God, right? It’s so much effort to teach them how to do it properly!’ Lyanna says, war flashbacks from her relationship hitting her.

‘That’s why I don’t even bother letting a new guy do it for like, more than ten minutes,’ Maege says. ‘They either dig for gold or lick it like an ice cream they don’t want to finish too early.’

‘That is disgustingly accurate,’ Lyanna says. ‘That’s kind of why I want to be in a relationship. Like, one of the main reasons, if I’m being honest. Just so I can train that guy into how I like shit, and then never bother with mediocre oral ever again. ’

‘So true, babe,’ Maege says.

They’re an hour away from the feast, and Lyanna still has to be fit into a dress with a corset back, and while they hurriedly do their makeup, Lyanna realizes how much she’s missed hanging with Maege. Which is why she abruptly stops doing her shit and turns around and squeezes Maege as she’s trying to spray her hair.

‘Woah, Lya, this is nice. Random, but nice,’ Maege says, slightly confused but always affectionate.

‘I love you, buddy,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I’ve said this in a while, but yeah. I really do appreciate you as a friend.’

‘I love you too, Lya,’ Maege says, hugging her tighter. ‘Men are men, okay? You got me, I got you.’

Lyanna pulls away. ‘In regards to the sad opposite gender, Jaime’s being weird.’

‘Is he?’ Maege asks. ‘Ugh, what’s new?’

‘Well, I slept with Maron again,’ Lyanna tells her, going back to her mascara.

‘Ooh, so what, you guys like, together now?’ Maege asks, a slightly disgusted tone when she says, ‘together.’

‘No,’ Lyanna says. ‘I just got out of a relationship, and he’s in a weird place. We’re just friends, who sleep together. And if it gets weird, we’ll strike the sex out.’

‘Makes sense,’ Maege says, wiping fake tears. ‘Friends with benefits, my lil baby is all grown up.’

Lyanna whacks her arm, and feels as close to happy as she can imagine with her day. 

‘Shut up and do your makeup so you can tie me into my dress,’ she says, grinning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sdagdjhgajhge
> 
> **1** okay so there we go, more character fleshing! more waiting for slow burn! i've actually been planning this out in my head, and i might just be time jumping after R-Week is over, but i'm still sort of figuring that out, so you guys have a rocky road ahead. i really enjoy writing maron and lyanna, they just play off well against each other (and the plot bunnies are biting me but i shall ignore). you get the dance that was promised in the next chapter, and there's probably going to be more lya-jaime drama because frankly, i live for that shit.
> 
> **2** BUT once again, I would like to thank all my readers, all the people who've followed this story and bookmarked it, who leave a KUDOS EVERYTIME, and ESP the ones who come back every chapter and comment - you all genuinely keep me going. whenever i feel lost and unmotivated, i reread those comments, and i'm back on top form, so bless you all. you are all such a significant part of what i write, so thank you for reading!
> 
> **3** tune in the comments to tell me what you think! will maron and lyanna stop to save the friendship? will lyanna realize her bUrNinG for the pretty targaryen who gets his eyebrows done? will jaime get his shit together and move on from toXiC tRaSh? will this writer ever deliver on the Ned/Catelyn? you tell me!


	10. i know you think you're the queen of the underground

She’s dancing with Maege. It’s always fun dancing with Maege, whether it’s in a club or in a ballroom.

‘Change,’ Maege says after a bit, and Lyanna lets her lead instead.

They’re only one of a few couples on the floor, since it is both relatively early and the place is devoid of any and all freshman.

‘So, what are your plans for the night?’ Maege asks. ‘Because if you want any pot, we’ll have to walk to my dealer’s apartment. That’ll take around, like. Thirty minutes.’

‘No, why would you automatically just assume I want pot?’ Lyanna asks her. ‘Change.’

Maege immediately stops leading. ‘You’ve had a falling out with Jaime again. What is up with that shit, you guys have like some fight at R-Week tradition or something?’

Lyanna rolls her eyes. ‘No, not sure what we have. But he was my boyfriend then. He’s like my best friend now. Arguably, if I’ll be doing anything, I’ll be talking some sense into him and telling him to act like it.’

‘Still, my guy has good shit,’ Maege says, like it doesn’t matter what Lyanna’s just said.

Lyanna sighs. ‘Honestly? It’s still pretty early. I’ll let you know. God knows how the night will go.’

Turns out, it’s going to go shit. Lyanna dances with Maron again, briefly, when he makes her laugh by pointing out all the gossip she’s missed, and then with Domeric, who fake cries and loudly apologizes for losing in her favor.

‘Indeed, fair lady Lyanna,’ he yells out loudly, as people stop and stare. ‘I shall win in your name next year.’

‘Sure, buddy,’ Lyanna says, spinning around. ‘I look forward to it.’

And then there’s the tentative but definitive highlight – Lyanna’s standing by the punch bowl when Rhaegar find her and asks her for the dance.

‘This is a bit late,’ he says by way of greeting.

‘Trust me, you’ve got nothing on Maron,’ Lyanna scoffs. ‘I owed him a dance for like. A year. Finally made good on it a few days ago.’

‘I’m honored,’ Rhaegar deadpans, hand out.

She takes it, and they step into the waltz. It’s not even too much of a versatile dance, there’s none of that sharp tango twisting or anything, but it has been a while since she’s done it, so she’s more careful about where she’s stepping. Rhaegar, she’ll give him credit, leads smoothly, giving fair warning before they’re about to change their course and not bump into another lazily moving couple.

‘Either start waltzing or get off the floor,’ Lyanna says, obnoxiously, after the third time they swerve to avoid the same couple.

Rhaegar laughs, but then abruptly stops. ‘What are you going to do, kick everyone who bothers you off the floor?’

‘More like bully them into leaving themselves,’ she shrugs as much as she can. His hand is hot on her arm, his grip on her hand firm and settled. ‘Or perhaps, intimidate them with our good dancing that they find it too embarrassing to stay.’

‘Well, let’s hope no one asks me to foxtrot,’ Rhaegar says. At her raised eyebrow, he says, ‘I’m terrible at finding the beat for most music, but the foxtrot was something I clearly struggled with. The four beat counts…you get me. I would have been a terrible drummer.’

Lyanna’s vividly imagining him in a college band, with his long, straight hair, and his lean wrists, trying to drum to something by the Sex Pistols. She chokes on a laugh.

‘What?’ Rhaegar asks, perfectly carved eyebrow up. ‘You’re thinking something mean, aren’t you.’

Lyanna purses her lip and avoids laughing more. ‘Not mean, just hilarious. Just, like, you in a college band. As a shitty drummer.’

Rhaegar is unimpressed, but she can tell he shares her mirth from the look in his eyes.  ‘All libel,’ he says.

‘So, you play any instruments?’ she asks him. ‘Or did your father like, not approve?’

‘Classically trained for the piano and the cello,’ Rhaegar says. ‘Preferred the piano, to be honest.’

‘Ah, violin and cello for me,’ Lyanna says. ‘Piano too, but not as much.’

They keep talking while they dance, and it takes a while for Lyanna to realize that they really are only one of two couple on the dance floor anymore. There’s proper music starting up, from the baroque era, and although Lyanna wants to protest that they’ve literally mixed up their era’s, she doesn’t quite mind.

‘I always loved Bach,’ Rhaegar says, a wistful look in his eye.

‘Same,’ she tells him. Clearly, the other couple doesn’t share their love for Bach and Baroque music. ‘Why don’t we do this properly once? Show them how great the waltz is when done to good, albeit sharp music.’

‘You’ll have to excuse the two left feet,’ he tells her.

Lyanna scoffs, then smiles. ‘That’s libel.’

And it really is the highlight of her night, if she’s being honest. He knows what he’s doing, even if he hesitates a bit more when they’re starting off – but then as they go forward, he seems to come into his element, shrugging off how long it’s been since he’s done it properly for the sake of it. His posture is perfect, and as they acclimate to how to work around each other, it’s one of the most comfortable dances she’s ever done with someone.

‘I bet you’d be better at your brother at this if you’d actually tried,’ Lyanna tells him during a slow patch, as they move their feet slowly to match the tiding music.

‘You should be careful, he’ll hear you and sue you for slander,’ Rhaegar tells her.

‘Is that a joke? Because I was told Targaryen’s are weird and like, love suing people,’ she says.

Rhaegar smiles, properly, brilliantly, and it hits her like a brick to the face. She’s almost glad they’re at arm’s length in the instance; because she’s torn between pushing him down and kissing him and pushing him down and running off to start a new life. It’s like the image is burned into her corneas – she shakes her head.

‘You want to be a lawyer, right?’ he says, with a smaller smile. ‘You’re in the right hands. Literally.’

‘I plan on charging an exorbitant amount of money as a lawyer,’ she declares, deciding to move away from anything and everything that will fuck up this friendship. ‘Like a really high end hooker. Not sure if you’ll be able to afford me as your defense for weird shit.’

‘I’m heartbroken, I truly am,’ he says. ‘So much so that I might step on your foot.’

‘I’m shocked you have a have a sense of humor buried way down under your stoic-elf-zombie-vampire routine.’

‘Did you just say stoic-elf-zombie-vampire?’ he asks.

‘I did,’ she says. ‘Don’t tell me to pick one. I’ll call you whatever you want, what you gonna do about it?’

‘Sue you with a bad lawyer because you won’t represent me,’ Rhaegar says, so seriously, Lyanna can’t help but laugh. He grins again, and _oh my god –_ ‘Really, I’ve forgotten how I’m supposed to turn to this.’

Lyanna smirks as an idea comes into her head. ‘How about you let me lead? Give you a little refresher course.’

Rhaegar looks pensive. Lyanna scoffs. ‘Let me guess, it’ll offend your delicate masculine sensibilities and through you into despair.’

‘No, actually,’ he says, ‘Just wondering how I can follow when I’ve don’t know how.’

‘Oh my god, shut up and let me lead,’ she says. ‘No one cares, buddy, literally no one.’

‘Lot of people staring though,’ he tells her as they start to move. He reminds her of a new born colt with how he’s moving.

‘Let them stare,’ Lyanna says, forceful. ‘Look, they’re going to say shit about you whether you do what they want or whether you do what you want. Might as well be the center of attention on your own terms, is what I’ve always lived by.’

Rhaegar’s pensive, she can tell. Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed. ‘Forget it,’ she starts.

‘No,’ he says. He’s drawn himself up, that classic Targaryen posture, and that sharp intelligence seemingly bred into his family. ‘You’re right, I’ve spent a lot of time caring about what people think. Teach me, master Yoda.’

‘Bad reference, but I am proud, young Skywalker,’ Lyanna says, correcting his hands. This time, she’s got her arm on his waist, his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s simple enough, just flip everything you used to do, and do the opposite.’

Clearly, Rhaegar thinks that’s not great advice. ‘You should be like, a teacher or something,’ he says, mouth twitching upwards and tone dry. Lyanna’s noticed he’s stopped being such a robot, and is suddenly glad for it.

‘Hey, you’ll have to pay me for those too,’ she says, as they carefully outline the same steps, but in reverse.

‘With that and your lawyer’s fee I’ll be emptying out the bank accounts soon enough,’ he says.

‘Trust me, you won’t regret it,’ she tells him. ‘Now focus.’

After a few minutes of slowly retracing steps, Rhaegar stops looking quite so pensive. He’s quite tall, but then again, Lyanna’s in high heeled ankle boots, so she’s barely an inch shorter than him, which makes leading a lot easier.

‘I wonder if the band’s being paid for this,’ he muses after several minutes of silence. ‘I really do, I mean, as a fellow trained musician, I have to hand it to them. My hands would probably be bleeding by now.’

Lyanna nods, but then abruptly whacks him on the waist where her hand is at. ‘Focus. We’ll speed up soon. Then we can change leading positions randomly, which is very fun.’

‘I’m confused about how that’s fun,’ Rhaegar asks.

‘You’re confused about what fun is,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Really, you are. So we’re not going to listen to what you think fun is.’

‘You’re hilarious,’ Rhaegar says.

‘I’m also right,’ Lyanna says, staring at him.

‘You’re also right,’ Rhaegar says, sighing - defeated, as she spins him. He returns back into position quite correctly too, and Lyanna’s quite proud.

‘Are you this distracted whenever Drogo asks me to hand out assignments in class?’ he asks.

‘I’m not exactly hanging off every word, no,’ Lyanna admits, grinning. ‘You got the gist of it?’

‘Yes, I do,’ he tells her, like she’s insulted his family, his cow, his land and his hair. Very offended for someone who was scared of learning for a while there, she thinks.

‘Okay, then, enough talking, let’s do this right,’ she tells him.

She motions towards the band who seems busy squinting at their sheet music, and catches the eye of the errant flute player clearly on break and clearly only there for payday. She makes a motion to speed the music up, or play something a bit faster paced, except she feels it might come across like a hand job gesture. The flute player’s eyes widen, and then he whispers to one of the cellists, and gives her a thumbs up.

After a few beats, the current slow theme slows to a stop. And then, they start up again, faster, more urgent playing.

‘Shall we? You can start by leading,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘And don’t look scared.’ He doesn’t really, but she just wants to motivate him a bit more.

It works. ‘I am not scared of… _dancing,_ of all things. I quite enjoy it,’ he says, fixing their positions.

‘Maybe look like it, then, is all I’m saying,’ Lyanna grins.

‘Jesus,’ Rhaegar repeats her earlier words, ‘Shut up and let me lead, okay?’

The rest of the time is spent dancing across the floor, trying to flow with the music, trying to ascertain pattern flows. When she feels like he’s getting distracted because of his position as leading, she tells him, ‘Change,’ and laughs as he spends a few seconds being moved solely because she’s holding him by the waist so suddenly.

The band gets faster, and faster, and it’s all Lyanna can do to just get through the dance, especially when Rhaegar seems to start appreciating the whole thing enough to say, ‘change’ of his own volition. It’s fun, and exciting, and a bit confusing whenever they shift, but Lyanna loves the unpredictability of it, loves how good he is at it, and mostly, just loves how he enjoys it more and more with every passing minute. And although the piece they’ve played only lasts a bit above ten minutes, and it’s only towards the latter end that Lyanna starts getting a bit breathless from the sharp turns and footwork, Lyanna can’t help but feel like this is the highlight of R-Week.

When they stop it’s to some errant applause, as the music ebbs away slowly. They both turn to wave at the musicians in a silent gesture of thanks. Maege, as Lyanna’s designated best supporter, cheers loudly, obnoxiously, trying to channel every embarrassing mother she’s ever been witness to.

Lyanna flinches. ‘Ignore her. Or don’t, actually, that’s Maege. I love her.’

Rhaegar’s a bit breathless too, but hiding it like a real champion. ‘That was something.’

‘The word you’re looking for is fun,’ Lyanna says. Around them, people are starting to come onto the dance floor, and Lyanna’s feeling all full, like she ate too much and is going to throw up now, but in the best way.

While she’s analyzing that bit of bullshit, Rhaegar asks her, ‘do you want to get some punch? My legs are dead.’

Lyanna nods as someone connects their IPod in. ‘Aw, fuck, absolutely.’  

They’ve been sipping their drinks and talking about their dance when Lyanna sees Jaime. He’s standing in the corner, looking for the world as if he has a raincloud on his head and his alone.

‘Hey, Rhaegar,’ Lyanna says, not taking her eyes off Jaime. ‘Do you mind if I go off for a second? You’re around right, you’re not going somewhere?’

‘No, not at all,’ he says, surprised at her immediate outburst but clearly fine with it. ‘Everything okay?’

Daenarys cuts in, loudly. She’s making a beeline for them. ‘Oh my god, brother mine, you two were great!’

‘Yeah, yeah, everything’s good,’ Lyanna says to Rhaegar. ‘I’ll find you, yeah? Tell Dany I said hi and I’ll catch her soon!’

And that’s where Lyanna’s day goes to shit. Jaime sees her coming, and starts walking away. For a second, Lyanna’s shocked. Then, she’s pissed. Then, she’s furiously stalking down her best friend. He’s almost outside when she finds him, and it’s clearly been a while because the sky is much darker than she anticipated.

‘What the fuck?’ she says, as soon as he stops.

He sighs. ‘I didn’t want you to yell in there.’

‘I wasn’t going to yell in there,’ Lyanna’s fuming. She can see her hair burning away because of how hot she feels. ‘But I sure as hell want to now. Care to explain what’s going on, _best friend?_ ’

‘Nothing’s going on,’ he says. ‘I just knew you’d be upset because of what happened in the morning.’

And there’s a part of Lyanna that really hates giving him the power to hurt her and the knowledge of having that power. Because she was upset, is even more upset now because he’s still being a douche.

‘And what do you have to say for yourself?’ she asks him.

Jaime sighs again. ‘Look, Lyanna, I told you, I was hung over and pissed off, and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to be lectured, or be nagged at, okay. And that was it.’

Hearing that shitty excuse does nothing for Lyanna, except the fight goes out of her completely.

‘Jaime, I get it, I do. I get that you were hurt because of the Cersei thing, and I get you were pissed and hung over and wanted to be alone,’ she says. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for some time off. Instead, you’ve been acting like a dick.’

‘I did say, not now,’ he says, defensive.

‘Yeah, after being a dick the entire past day. Of course I was going to explode, what would you expect?’ she tells him. ‘You’re my best friend, you’re the guy I’m supposed to love more than anyone else, and yet these past two days I don’t like who you are.’

‘Well, clearly, you haven’t been lonely,’ he says, pointedly. She can tell she’s hurt but what she’s said to him, because she knows the effect she has over him too. It’s one of the shitty things about knowing another person so well. ‘Dancing with Rhaegar and whatnot.’

‘Don’t bring him into this,’ she says, pissed again. ‘This isn’t about my other friends. It isn’t at all. This is about you, my best friend, who acted like an ignorant asshole in front of my father, was off getting drunk when I genuinely needed someone around, and who is now defending his shitty actions instead of apologizing and trying to be better.’

‘Look, Lyanna,’ Jaime starts. He looks – harsh, like he hasn’t heard anything from what she’s said except for all the parts that point him in the wrong, like he’s going to defend himself and argue with her. Lyanna’s sick of arguing. He’s talking and she isn’t listening.

She’s hearing Maron’s advice, and Domeric’s resigned speech about what to do.

‘You know what I think, Jaime,’ Lyanna says, softly. There’s nothing she can do, nothing she can say to him that’ll change his mind about anything. Lyanna’s getting that now. ‘I think this conversation is a waste of both of our times.’

He looks confused at the interruption, but doesn’t say anything apart from, ‘Excuse me?’

‘Jaime, I thought I could help you get over Cersei. But I can’t. That’s something only you can do, and you did tell me that, but maybe I didn’t listen. But I’ve said this before, but you were a dick when you were with her, and you’re still a dick trying to get over her,’ Lyanna says. ‘I’m your best friend. I’m always going to be there for you, whether it’s to talk, or whatever. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t edge people out of your life because you _miss_ her, Jaime, you can’t. Or, you can, and maybe when you’re sitting alone and miserable with no friends, you can still think of her. But mark my words; she won’t ever be there for you. Ever. She is only ever going to want you when she can’t have you, or when she’s getting something out of you.’

Lyanna shakes her head. ‘But me saying that isn’t going to change anything. You’re the one who’s going to have to realize all that, and hopefully stop it. All I can say is, I’ve done my part. I meant what I said in the morning, I’m not going to lecture you about any of that. But that doesn’t mean you keep being a dick to one of the only people who’s ever genuinely wanted the best for you.’

 He’s looking at her, still saying nothing. It’s one of the worst sights in the world for Lyanna – Jaime saying nothing to her. But she’s said her piece, and she feels a bit like she did a year ago, when she’d told him they should break up because she didn’t want to be second best.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she tells him as she walks away. He makes no moves to stop her. ‘I’ll bring doughnuts over. Check the attitude and we’ll make a day of it.’

Lyanna sequesters herself into the bathroom as soon as she’s in the hall. She feels a strange sort of numbness over her, and small blot of aching right at her sternum that seems to be blooming outwards and into her limbs. There isn’t much she can do right now apart from cry, but Lyanna doesn’t want to relive the past again. She doesn’t want to weep like fucking loser and then briefly laugh and hear words echo in the empty bathroom when she says, ‘Looks like history really does repeat itself.’

But there is one part of her history she wouldn’t mind reliving. She sends a text to Maege.

.

‘So, what exactly happened?’ Rhaegar asks, as he walks alongside Lyanna and Maege. He’s got a bit of a perplexed look that Lyanna doesn’t exactly blame him for. Maege did, after all, walk up to him while he was silently drinking punch and staring at people like a creep (Lyanna’s assuming he was judging them), and ask if he wanted to, ‘ _live the good life._ ’

‘Lyanna got fucked by her bestie,’ Maege says, ‘but like not in the way I’d like.’

‘Alright,’ Rhaegar says, robotic in the way Lyanna didn’t miss at all. Clearly, he hasn’t chilled out with Maege the way he has with Lyanna. ‘So then, what exactly are we doing? Apart from, well, smoking up.’

‘Technically, I’ll probably be having sex,’ Maege says, ‘which means you guys get to smoke up on guy’s weird ass sofa.’

‘What? I thought you were getting high with me!’ Lyanna says. ‘Why not?’

‘Oh, I never orgasm when I’m high, man,’ Maege says. ‘You know that shit, right?’

‘I do, although I’m not sure why I had to know that,’ Lyanna tells her. ‘Stop traumatizing Rhaegar, would you.’

‘I haven’t even brought up anything really bad,’ Maege scoffs. ‘Oh, hey, this is the same guy who helped me find that condom I lost inside of me.’

‘What?’ Rhaegar says, sounding like a fresh and shiny Maege-induced PTSD victim.

‘Oh, God, Maege, no,’ Lyanna groans.

‘Shhh, mama’s speaking. Okay, recap. This guy was my supplier but also like a friend I ran into at parties and shit, right. And one day, we come over here and drink a lot, and get really, really, drunk, and then we decide to have sex. And like, I’m adamant we use a condom, and he’s all for it, except after a while, he goes, damn you feel great girl. And I’m like, yeah, so do you man. And when we’re done, and he pulls out, the condom’s like vanished, like some shitty planned parenthood magic trick, right. And so, like, I took the after pill, and then I started flipping about where the condom was, and then we did a lot of research on Google. And then basically, what I did was, I was supposed to like, make a hook and then pull it out, but my fingers are too small, so then he did it, because, he had long fingers. Played the piano as a kid apparently,’ Maege recounts.

Lyanna cringes and takes a look at Rhaegar.

Rhaegar looks like his .exe file has stopped working. ‘Um.’

‘Maege, maybe zero down on the weird stuff,’ Lyanna says.

‘Nope, your guy’s walking with us to some creepy apartment to get good weed, he has to listen to what I have to say,’ Maege says, and in a way Lyanna’s always loved her for sticking to her crass, vulgar guns. ‘If he didn’t wanna listen to Mama Maege, he shouldn’t have come.’

Lyanna makes a placatory face at Rhaegar, an amalgamation of _I don’t know what to say,_ and, _I’m sorry,_ and _she has a point, kinda._

‘I wasn’t going to let Lyanna and you walk across campus at this time of the night. It’s almost twelve,’ Rhaegar says.

Rhaegar with his perfect, shiny hair and his rich-guy aura would do them no favors if this were actually a shady neighborhood. In fact, Lyanna would bet actual upfront cash that he’d be the one who’s taken hostage, or mugged, or raped, first out of all of them. Maege would be most likely to be in on the whole crime. Lyanna, she’d probably be the one who gets shot because she doesn’t carry money with her and wears fake ass jewelry that pisses muggers off.

She’s still imagining various scenarios of how a mugging would go down with them, considering they’re all in period-era costume, when they finally reach the dude’s building. Lyanna sees a rat scurry to the side, and immediately lifts up her dress.

‘Jesus, Maege,’ Lyanna says. ‘Are you sure we should buy weed from the guy who has rats near his building?’

‘Don’t worry, his place is pretty clean. Well, I mean, like, apart from the underwear and the usual disgusting thing men have. You know the gist. No rats though, and his stuff’s great. I think he gets it from Afghanistan.’

‘This reminds me of the place I had my bachelor’s party,’ Rhaegar says, as they start to climb the stairs. The lights are broken throughout, so Lyanna fishes out her phone and turns the torch on.

‘Are you serious?’ Maege asks. ‘I’d think your bachelor party was an elitist winter trip to aspen or some shit, where all the strippers got like diamond encrusted panties at the end.’

‘No, actually, my brother in law planned it,’ Rhaegar monotones. ’Oberin hated me then, still hates me now, but back then he ended up taking me and a few other people to some back alley dealer’s house that also doubled as a brothel room. So.’

Rhaegar.exe really has stopped working, Lyanna thinks.

‘See, you’re so much less of a robot now, Rhaegar,’ Maege says. ‘See, Lyanna? The condom story worked. Read this in a psychology textbook – but unveiling a deeply personal fact about yourself usually thaws people out. Or it like, completely alienates them, but they still give up on any preconceived notions.’

‘I like how you had reasoning behind that story, of all things,’ Lyanna says. ‘Although, you do have a point.’

The guy’s apartment is on the third floor, and like all things in life, is a bigger disappointment than expected. He has no heating and so it’s disgustingly cold, but clearly the man has no sense of neatness, because there are actual tiny hills of clothes all over what Lyanna generously dubs the living room area. In the middle, sits a bright orange and black tartan couch that had its prime in 1993.

‘Mi casa es temporarily su casa,’ Miguel says. He’s not ugly by any standards – he’s actually pretty fit. But he’s also wearing low rise jeans and has an unreal amount of body hair. Lyanna isn’t sure when he last got that hoodie washed. By Rhaegar’s face, she can tell he feels the same.

Maege, on the other hand, has no such qualms, and gives Miguel a big hug as soon as he opens the door. ‘Now then, tell me you got the good stuff.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Miguel smirks, nodding down.

Maege looks down, then up at his face again. ‘No, man, I meant the other good stuff. For these guys.’

‘Oh, right, that,’ Miguel says, nodding in understanding. ‘Yeah, I’ll get it. Hope you two know how to roll. The couch is all yours and there’s a small table you can roll on – but if you have sex, do not use any of the clothes lying around as a cover for your ass, okay? Now, let Papa get the dough.’

‘Ugh, is that where you picked the Mama Maege thing up?’ Lyanna is disgusted.

Maege is unashamed, as always. ‘Yeah, not the proudest moment. It’s very catchy though.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Lyanna and Rhaegar say, simultaneously. They glance at each other.

‘Whatever,’ Maege says. ‘I’m going in. Be careful with the couch. I once almost took my back out on that.’

Lyanna makes a face. Miguel returns with the fruits of depression.

‘Here you go, darlings. There’s two joints, rolled already, but those are hash only. And here,’ he says, brandishing the little baggie, ‘is the good shit.’

Lyanna shakes her head. ‘We got it, you go do your thing. Just like, keep it down though, alright?’

Miguel winks and leaves.

Rhaegar is doing what Lyanna thinks is a covert cringe, except he just looks extremely constipated.

‘You look extremely constipated when you make that face,’ Lyanna tells him.

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Rhaegar says, immediately changing his face. Lyanna notices, and shakes the little baggie in front of him.

‘Isn’t this a throwback to your college days?’ Lyanna asks, trying to make him feel a bit better.

‘I’m a PhD student,’ Rhaegar says, possibly to himself. ‘What am I doing?’

‘I don’t know, buddy,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘It’s midnight, you’re standing in some dump of an apartment about to get high with a sophomore who doesn’t know what’s happening with her life. Hey, if you want to go, you can go. I know you have a family at home, probably waiting up-’

‘Yeah, let’s get high,’ Rhaegar says.

_Okay, then,_ Lyanna thinks. Clearly she’s not the only one with family issues.

‘Do you know how to roll?’ she asks him, and he shakes his head a bit.

‘I did, but you might want to do it instead,‘ he says. ‘It’s been a while.’

Lyanna lights up the hash joint, and takes a few deep puffs, then hands it to him.

‘I haven’t smoked in almost a year,’ she says, borderline mournful, while she attempts to roll a proper joint.

‘I haven’t smoked in three,’ Rhaegar says, coughing embarrassingly on his second puff.

In the next half hour, Lyanna and Rhaegar manage to smoke the two hash joints, alongside four more joints that Lyanna’s rolled.

‘I’m a pro,’ she says, slowly. ‘I’m so good at this. I’m great at this.’

‘You are,’ Rhaegar says. He’s basically turned into the human equivalent of jello, slowly relaxing into his seat on the sofa until Lyanna can’t imagine anything else there. His posture is dead, his legs are thrown apart, and his head keeps thumping against the back of the sofa before Rhaegar pulls himself up.

Lyanna giggles. At his questioning glance, she says, ‘It’s you. Look at you. You’re high. You’re so relaxed I practically can’t even recognize you.’

‘I’m not that uptight,’ Rhaegar says.

‘You kinda are, man,’ she tells him.

‘No m’not,’ he says, confused, and Lyanna finds that fucking adorable for some reason.

He’s not too far away from her either; Lyanna’s only a few inches away from him on the couch. She can’t quite resist herself and twirls a strand of his hair. It’s as silky and soft as she enviously expected it to be.

‘You have nice hair,’ she says. Rhaegar’s eyes meet hers. He blinks, slowly. They’re perfectly purple, she notices. ‘And nice eyes.’

‘So do you,’ he says, and in a move that shocks half the high out of her, he leans over and twirls a strand of her hair.

She lets go of his hair immediately. ‘Yes, I was blessed by the Gods of curly and dark hair.’

He’s still twirling, and it’s getting to Lyanna with how unbothered she is by it.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, and she doesn’t notice his smile until it sharpens to a grin, and he tugs at the lock.

Lyanna balks at him, and he laughs, almost giggles, and then lets her hair go.

‘I never quite thought you’d be playful,’ Lyanna says, somehow supremely glad for the weed. Normally, twirling hair can be very intimate, she thinks, and this was not that.

‘Why not?’ Rhaegar asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Lyanna says. Her brain is getting woozier by the second. ‘You just, don’t seem like the type. Or rather, didn’t. The Rhaegar I know now is very different from the Rhaegar I saw at that one summer party.’

‘Lyanna, I gotta ask you something,’ he says, turning to her.

Lyanna’s disgusted by how perfect his skin is. Really, it’s unfair. ‘Are you about to ask me if this weed really did get me really high really fast, because if so the answer is _yes._ ’

‘No, that wasn’t what I was about to ask, but, now that I think about it, I overwhelmingly agree,’ he says. ‘This is some good shit.’

Lyanna giggles, and they lapse into silence for a while, before he turns back to her.

‘Wait, no I remember what I wanted to ask,’ he says, searching her face. ‘That day, at the party, you were laughing at me, weren’t you?’

Lyanna is Not Prepared for this. ‘Uhhhhhhhhh,’ she says. ‘No.’

‘So you were laughing! I knew it!’ he says.

‘No, no, oh god, okay, so I was,’ she admits, laughing at bit in the moment as well. She can just remember how fake he’d been, all, ‘oh, who bought this harp in?’

‘But not in a mean way,’ she clarifies. ‘It was just funny.’

Rhaegar has assimilated into the shitty sofa, and Lyanna feels like she’s to blame.

‘I’m serious, hey,’ she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Dude, it just made me laugh. It wasn’t that you play a harp – which, although, you know, is kind of funny and unexpected, but also – it was just something I would do. You know? Like attempt to stumble upon something I’m great at. It was just something that made me laugh and cheered me up.’

Rhaegar looks slightly more like himself and less like he’s about to disappear into the sofa. ‘Right. I’m hungry, are you hungry?’

‘It’s the pot munchies, but yeah, I’m too lazy to get up,’ Lyanna says, right before the area is filled with the noise of a headboard banging against a wall. Lyanna hears several grunts and several abandoned groans, and cringes.

‘I am no longer lazy to get up,’ she says, shoving what is left of the weed into her cleavage and standing up. ‘Come on, let’s get something to eat.’

‘I could go for a very, very greasy cheeseburger right now,’ Rhaegar says.

Lyanna whacks him on the arm. ‘Dude. Here’s the plan. We hit the seven eleven for snacks, and then we hit the cheeseburgers. Then we go back to mine and eat and finish up this shit.’

Rhaegar looks like she’s just given him the map to the holy grail. ‘That sounds brilliant, to be honest.’

All in all, it’s far different than what she thought her night would be like – she’d assumed she’d be getting high with Maege, and after all, she knows Maege would never have ditched her if Rhaegar hadn’t been present. But this isn’t bad either, not at all, she finds herself thinking as they browse through the supermarket, looking for a bunch of snacks, laughing at how bright eyed Rhaegar looks as he grabs three large bags of chips.

And while she’s standing there in the McDonald’s with him as they wait for their quarter pounders, she thinks of how she’s actually quite happy in this moment with him. What was initially a trip to forget about Jaime and his shit has turned into a nice moment in itself with Rhaegar and Lyanna, and initially Maege.

‘You’re consistently smiling,’ Rhaegar points out. He’s consistently smiling too.

‘I’m happy, right now,’ she says. ‘I just noticed. But yeah. I thought I’d be mourning an old friendship, instead I’m here enjoying a new one.’

‘I’m glad we’re friends, Lyanna,’ Rhaegar says. ‘We haven’t been for too long, but really.’

‘You just like me because of my affinity for junk food,’ Lyanna squints at him.

He shrugs, still smiling. ‘Well, it certainly doesn’t make anything worse.’

‘I’m truly heartbroken,’ Lyanna deadpans. ‘I now know the true reasons for why you’re friends with me.’

‘Oh my god, our food is ready,’ Rhaegar says, and rushes to collect.

They then trudge their way to Lyanna’s dorm room, and put the stuff on her table, then promptly collapse on her sofa.

‘God, I love your sofa,’ Rhaegar says, ‘It’s the best sofa ever. I want to die on this sofa.’

‘You’re an adorable high person,’ Lyanna says. ‘Now less talking, more eating. Then it’s smokey time.’

Rhaegar eats fucking daintily, taking one bite and making sure he uses a napkin to sip the sauce from the side of his lip. Lyanna stares at him in disgust.

‘No, Sir, you do not get to come into my dorm, sit on my sofa, call yourself a good friend of mine and still think common eating etiquette apply to us,’ Lyanna declares.

‘It’s just hardwired into me,’ Rhaegar says, a bit sheepish, after swallowing.

‘Rhaegar,’ Lyanna says. ‘It’s two in the morning. You’re high, and you’re eating cholesterol in a bun. What exactly are you holding on to?’

‘You can’t judge me, I don’t do this,’ he says, defensively. ‘My mother was very clear about how to eat in front of a lady.’

Lyanna rolls her eyes. ‘Dude, no offence, but you’re like. Twenty seven. Why the fuck are you still listening to what your mom told you?’

Rhaegar looks like she’s just turned his life upside down. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re right. I’m twenty seven. What the fuck am I doing?’

‘Eating a hamburger like someone who is an elite fuck,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘Woman up, buddy, shove that in your mouth if you really want to.’

Rhaegar, being a trooper, shoves half of the burger into his mouth and chews. The image is so surreal, Lyanna blinks a few times, thinking he’ll be gone at the next blink.

Meanwhile, Lyanna’s already practically inhaled most of her own burger, and decides to start rolling their last two joints.

‘What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?’ Rhaegar asks her, after he’s swallowed.

‘Climb Machu Pichu. Alone. The whole four days, three nights thing,’ she says immediately.

He seems to think it over in his mind while he shoves more of his burger into his mouth. ‘Makes sense. It’s pretty amazing.’

‘You’ve been?’ Lyanna asks, suddenly excited.

‘No, not really. But I was in Cuzco once. Should’ve just gone for it,’ he says. ‘Take it from your senior, don’t miss out on opportunities. They don’t really come along after the first time.’

‘In light of that, here’s your last joint,’ Lyanna says, passing it to him. ‘Also, there’s a special place in hell for people who talk about depressing shit when they’re high, so, maybe cut back the sad shit.’

Rhaegar leans over her to get the lighter. Lyanna is disgusted by how turned on she is by this. She’s thinking about finding Maron the next day, when Rhaegar talks.

‘I wonder sometimes if maybe I just lost the chance,’ he says. Lyanna blinks at him to continue, while motioning for the lighter. ‘As in, I got married so fucking young, to someone who was also young. And not even because I loved her, you know? Because my parents said I had to, or that’s how it was always done. Looking back, I think of how easy it would have been to just say no.’

What exactly is she supposed to say to that? Her brain’s being mushy, but she’s stuck to every word he speaks. She moves, one leg under her other thigh.

‘And I keep thinking at the most random of times. I think, did I lose the chance? Did I lose the chance to be in love because I was married to the wrong person during the time I was supposed to find it? You know, before I met you, Lyanna, I remember just looking at women and thinking, could she have been the one? Would I have spoken to her if I didn’t have a ring on my finger? And I know, that sounds stupid.’

It really doesn’t.

‘It doesn’t,’ she interrupts.

He laughs, a bitter sound that affects her more than she likes. ‘And it’s awful of me, because Elia hasn’t been a bad wife by any standards. And yet even during the early days, when I was hesitantly fond of her, I would wake up in the morning and think of a woman I’d never met. And I would pretend as if I wasn’t married, in that small piece of sleep and wakefulness, and imagine all the things about her that I would love. Her laugh. The dip of her clavicle. How she’d do her hair. How it would feel to run my fingers down the nape of her neck. ’

Lyanna is so engrossed in what he’s saying, she’s forgotten to smoke. It’s only when the tip of the joint as burned too far and falls on her ankle that Lyanna jolts with a yell. She scrambles to brush it away.

‘Oh, fuck, you okay?’ Rhaegar says, putting his joint down and trying to help her brush the ash off. When his hand touches her ankle, Lyanna feels both ticklish and turned on, and justifiably yells while trying to pull herself away from his touch. She ends up kicking his arm, and falls off the couch. Lying on the ground, she thinks about how much she hates this dress.

Rhaegar looks like he was Not Expecting this to happen. He helps her get up, his hands on both her shoulders, and she inexplicably wants to whack him in the face.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘What happened?’

‘I’m very ticklish,’ Lyanna says. She is being honest about being ticklish, just not the why she freaked out part. ‘Sorry for interrupting your monologue, I was just listening too carefully and forgot I had a joint in my hand.’

Rhaegar’s eyes widen. ‘Oh, shit.’

‘Is that smoke?’ Lyanna asks. He’s standing in front of her, all tall and shit, and there’s a line of smoke rising behind him. ‘Rhaegar. Why is my carpet on fire?’

‘Oh shit, I must have dropped the joint -’ he says, looking around for water. Lyanna runs to her room to grab some herself. When she comes back he’s found a small clear bottle filled to about a quarter.

‘No, don’t throw that!’ Lyanna says, pushing him out of the way.

‘What, why not?’ he yells.

‘Because that’s not water, it’s vodka!’ Lyanna yells back.

‘Why the fuck is there vodka in this water bottle Jesus fucking Christ-’

‘Stop judging and save my skirt from getting burnt-’

‘You should let me do it-’

‘Why because of that stupid legend about your family? Fire cannot hurt a dragon? Fuck off and hold my skirt you carpet destroyer-’

‘Would you please put the fire out already Lya, for fuck’s sake-’

Lyanna empties her small gallon of water on the fire. There’s smoke all over; it looks like they’ve hot boxed. She realizes that he’s gathered up the hem of her skirt and is actually holding it in one hand. His other hand is on her waist, burning a hand shaped hole there. 

He’s standing close behind her, part of him pressed against her left shoulder. They both seem to just be observing the charred splotch on her carpet and the shitty smell of burning. Lyanna has to turn her head to look at him. He’s closer than he’s ever been. His eyes fall to hers.

 ‘You set fire to my carpet,’ Lyanna says. ‘That sounds like a shitty innuendo to be honest.’

‘Because you kicked my hand!’ Rhaegar says.

‘And you didn’t notice the joint fucking fly out?’ she asks him. She looks at the splotch again, then him, then promptly breaks out laughing.

Rhaegar joins in, slow at first, small – the way she’s seen him laugh – and then he completely loses it, his other hand on her arm for support as he laughs the way Lyanna’s never seen him before.

‘You set fire,’ Lyanna says, between laughs, ‘to my carpet!’

‘You just leave vodka in clear water bottles!’ Rhaegar says, barely breathing from how hard he’s laughing.

The adrenaline rushes out, and Lyanna feels herself weak suddenly, but no less entertained. She’s still laughing when she starts sitting down, right there on the floor, and Rhaegar follows easily, one hand still holding her skirt. They laugh and laugh, and laugh again after it fades for a few moments, until she puts a hand on her stomach and declares that they need to stop because her stomach hurts.

‘God,’ Rhaegar says, smiling widely. ‘I haven’t laughed like that in…years.’

‘I can’t believe you fucking set fire to my carpet, Rhaegar,’ Lyanna says, giggling, and then groaning. ‘Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop.’

‘Thank you, Lyanna,’ he says, still smiling. He shakes his head. ‘I really haven’t laughed like that in years.’

‘No, we’re not having a moment after you almost burned down my room, Rhaegar,’ Lyanna tells him, mock serious.

‘Because you kicked me!’ he says. ‘Who the fuck is ticklish on their ankles? That’s insane.’

‘I am, bitch, fight me,’ Lyanna says.  ‘What you gonna do about it, huh?’

And then, he does something unexpected. He clamps a hand down on her exposed ankle, and it sparks through her. She jerks, but his hand stays, not too firm but unyielding.

‘You don’t seem ticklish,’ he says, grinning.

‘I will kick you so hard, Rhaegar Targaryen,’ Lyanna says. ‘Unhand me, foul fiend, or I shall break something.’

He removes his hand, still grinning, and then lets go of her skirts as well. ‘I’m just saying, someone’s lying.’

‘I’m just saying, someone is in perfect vicinity of being maimed,’ Lyanna warns, but he’s contagious. He has been from the moment she spoke to him. She smiles, a bit dimmed.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks.

‘The first time we met, properly,’ she says. ‘The party. After I danced with your brother. I was standing outside. I threw a glass at you.’

‘Yes, I haven’t forgotten that,’ he tells her. ‘Highlight of my semester, if I’m being honest. I don’t think I’ll be teaching after R-Week.’

There’s a lot to address there. ‘What do you mean? You’re not going to teach next semester?’

‘Nah,’ he says, settling down, stretching his feet out in front of him. The line of his shoulder is touching hers, and she’s conspicuously aware of it. ‘Last year of my PhD. I have to finish up my research thesis, and what not. But hey, I’m glad I taught this year. Got to meet you, after all.’

‘Are you serious when you say me throwing a glass at you because I thought you were a serial rapist was the highlight of your semester?’ Lyanna asks him. ‘Because if so, you’ve had a really fucking shitty semester man.’

‘No, actually,’ he says. ‘It was a tolerable semester. Completely and utterly tolerable. Aegon was doing fine. Rhaenys was doing fine. Elia was as always, present. And I was doing fine. And it was all just a long, long line of fine, until you laughed at me at the party -’

‘Laughed about what you were doing -’ Lyanna groans.

‘Laughed at me at the party and then threw a glass at me the next time,’ he finishes, giving her a pointed look. ‘I didn’t expect to find a friend this year. And certainly not someone who I would become so close to so soon.’

‘You’re chatty when you’re high, you know that,’ Lyanna says, but she’s touched, and she’s sure he can see it.

He laughs, short and staccato, and she feels it echo in her heartbeat.

‘You know, I also can’t orgasm when I’m high,’ he says. ‘So, I relate to your friend Maege on that one.’

Lyanna laughs, delighted. ‘Jesus Christ. 3 AM confessions much?’

Rhaegar shrugs. ‘Just wanted to make you laugh. But it is true.’

Lyanna nudges him. ‘You’re the highlight of my semester too. It’s true, I was having a pretty lame ass fucking time. And it would have sucked even more not having known you, or gotten the chance to be friends with you. I’m glad we’re friends, you know that? I really am. I mean, there are so many things I never would have guessed about you.’

‘So am I,’ he says. ‘What kind of things?’

‘Lots,’ she says, ominously. ‘Like, the fact that you’re actually playful? That was the most shocking, I think. You have a dry sense of humor, something I enjoy because I thought you were dead inside, no offence. Your love for junk food. Also general food. How you were immediately there for a friend when they needed you.’

She’d call the look he’s wearing bashful on anyone else. ‘Well, in a way, you provided the opportunity. There were a lot of things I’d forgotten about myself.’

‘Hey, New Years will be up soon End of R-Week, now that I recall,’ Lyanna says. ‘You can make a list of all the qualities you want to maintain into the next year.’

‘God, that’s going to suck, isn’t it,’ Rhaegar says. ‘Big, fancy party that no one really enjoys. Drunk people throwing up everywhere. Lines in the bathroom. That one guy who sells acid every year.’

‘I like the guy who sells acid in the bathrooms, not gonna lie,’ Lyanna says. ‘But hey, it’s all a lot more tolerable when you yourself are drunk and throwing up everywhere.’

‘God knows, my entire family will be there. Some of yours too, I bet,’ he says, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Then he looks at her. ‘Shit, its 3AM, I should probably go.’

‘Go to sleep, yes, absolutely,’ Lyanna says. ‘I’ll get you the pillow and the blanket. And I’m assuming you’ll want comfier clothes than those trousers. I think I have something.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t, really,’ he says. ‘Plus, I’m a guy, I can walk down the streets alone.’

Lyanna squints at him. With his long hair and his thin figure, he’s chow. ‘Honey, you’ll be raped,’ she says, very matter of fact. ‘Come on, you can go in a few hours, as soon as there’s enough sunlight to see your attacker.’

‘I don’t want to impose,’ he says, seriously.

‘Rhaegar, you’ve set fire to my carpet,’ Lyanna tells him. ‘You’ve comforted me and shown me you secret spot, and you have my shitty food all the time. You’re not imposing. I’d tell you, if you were imposing. Now shut up, or I will find you my hello kitty tank top.’

He relaxes, then, finally, and Lyanna moves to grab him a T-shirt that was Jaime’s once, and sweatpants that belong to Brandon. She chucks the pillow and the blanket on the couch for him, and smiles almost fondly at the burnt wet splotch that now adorns her carpet. She’ll move the couch to cover it tomorrow.

‘Goodnight, Lyanna,’ he whispers from behind her, like a creep. She jolts again, and then whacks him on the arm.

‘Asshole,’ she says, mouth twitching.

‘You prefer it over the robot,’ he says, confidently.

‘God help me, I do,’ she says. ‘Fare thee well, I shall see you in the morning.’

He grabs her wrist. Lyanna wonders if he feels her pulse jump. ‘How was your day today, Lyanna?’

‘What?’ she asks. He’s looking at her, hand still on her wrist, smiling faintly. _God,_ she thinks distantly, _I want to kiss you_. 

‘I had good day,’ she says, honestly, after waiting a few moments. ‘Better than I expected. Better end than beginning. How was your day today, Rhaegar?’

He smiles, a bit dim but still tempting. ‘It was brilliant,’ he says, like he wants to say more but can’t, or won’t.

‘Goodnight, Rhaegar,’ Lyanna says, and gently takes her hand from his loosening grip. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Goodnight, Lyanna,’ he says, as she turns off the lights. Even with his not-so-perfect hair, and in other men’s clothes, Lyanna thinks he’s the most attractive man she’s ever seen. She wonders, briefly, if that’s what falling in love feels like.

She throws herself into her bed, and can’t manage to stop smiling.

In the morning, she’s awakened by a knocking on the door, and then a distant sound of her door opening. She wonders who it is.

 ‘Why the fuck,’ she hears Jaime say. ‘Are you wearing my shirt?’

Lyanna falls out of bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1** okay so here we go for all of you R+L fans because if this isn't quality delivering idk what is. i see you all talking about the low burn and acting like you don't like it - but i know its a guilty pleasure. at the same time, i genuinely didn't want my R+L to be that immediate infatuation and falling in love and doing stupid shit thing - i wanted them to be friends and know each other relatively well before they move on to doing stupid shit - although they both were pretty infatuated since they saw each other so xoxo
> 
> **2** on the other hand, thank you to all of my readers who read, leave kudos and comment! i can't tell you how much it means to me whenever someone tells me a particular piece they liked, or what they enjoyed - it brings me more joy than i can put into words. i hope you all liked this chapter as much as i did, and as always, i'd love to know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> I live for feedback!


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